


Witch's Heist: The Tale of Jack Frost

by monsieur_scythebeef



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure, Humor, In which Jack is a simple traveling ice mage, Light Angst, M/M, OC, Slow Burn, Work In Progress, in which Jack first met Bunny in his cute form, in which Jack got thrusted into an epic adventure he did not ask for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 11:27:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1646984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsieur_scythebeef/pseuds/monsieur_scythebeef
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack Frost was just a simple traveling ice mage minding his own business and seeking out shelter for the night. It wasn’t his fault that dingy and sinister-looking castle was the only thing around for miles in the forest. In hindsight, the eerie green glow emitting from the castle windows should have clued him in that it was the perfect abode for a witch. </p><p>A witch who seeks to turn all mythical folk into comical versions of themselves for her collection unless she is recognised as a powerful being of her own right, that is. Thanks to his temporary lapse in judgment, the witch caught him “trespassing” and threw him into the dungeons. </p><p>A talking rabbit was the last thing he expected to see when he came to. Now, armed with his wits, his ice magic and a grumpy quadrupled for company, Jack has to figure out how to escape the dungeon and the witch’s clutches. </p><p>And maybe save the world along the way. Honestly, how did he get himself into these situations?</p><p> </p><p>An AU that is sort of a mixture of fairytales, legends and folklore. Inspired by a PC casual game I played not too long ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I use British English, so certain words will take on a different way of spelling. Like “color” vs. “colour”, “realize” vs. “realise”, and “practice” vs. “practise”. On a side note, I use “practice” when referring to the noun form. =P
> 
> So…I was playing this recently released PC game in celebration of the end of the exam period. My imagination happened and plot bunnies multiplied along the way. 
> 
> That, and I just wanted an excuse to try my hand at writing my first multi-chaptered fanfic. Updates should be once every two weeks at best, once a month at most. Mostly ‘at most’, because I have no life whatsoever outside from mountainous piles of schoolwork and preparing fan-made merchandise for several comic cons.

Once upon a time, there was a boy named Jack. He lived on the outskirts of a small village with his mother and younger sister in a small and cozy hut. His father died when his sister was barely a year old, so Jack became the man of the family sooner than most boys his age. Jack tended to the livestock and did most of the heavy-lifting work, while his mother and sister did the household chores and grew crops in a little dirt patch near their hut.

Most of their humble produce went to the marketplace, where Jack quickly learnt haggling skills that put any silver-tongued con-artist to shame.  Whatever meagre earnings he made went into taking care of the hut and putting food on the table. During tougher times, Jack will hunt for wild game in the nearby forest or make wood carvings for extra income.

Indeed, life can be trying, but they managed and were happy.

They may be simple peasant folk, but Jack was not quite so simple. Beneath that reedy frame hid the brilliant and creative mind of a trickster. He often played pranks on the villagers and enjoyed coming up with more unorthodox practical jokes to top his previous capers. Despite his cheekiness, Jack’s pranks were usually harmless and meant for a good laugh. His last brush with the concept of outrageousness resulted in his best friend Jamie losing a tooth and a good tongue-lashing from his mother.  Jamie, on the other hand, was more excited over how his tooth had earned him a visit from the Tooth Fairy.

Jack spent a good portion of his later day sniggering at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. When your family depends on you for a living, fantasizing about imaginary creatures is not exactly on the to-do list.

Jack was also a doting brother and a loving son. He helped out with the chores and crops occasionally to ease some burden off his mother. She was getting on with her years and could not move as much as she used to, so Jack’s growing sense of responsibility was a welcome relief for her. Sometimes, he would also entertain his sister by swallowing his pride when she needed a dollie dress-up or tea party playmate.  His more mischievous days would involve playing Jack-patented tricks on her, which typically led to extended placating periods of a wailing sister as the aftermath.

On one such fateful winter day, Jack took her to a nearby lake to ice-skate for some much needed appeasing. His recent antics might have gone a little too far, but in his defense, he was very sure one of those dolls had a secret vendetta against him. True, he was wrong to doodle a mustache on her face, but surely that was no reason for her to pull a “Chucky” on him at every turn of his head.

In hindsight, popping off the doll’s head was not exactly the best way to satisfy his growing paranoia. Worse when your sister walked in to the sight of her doll’s murder. The earful of unearthly howls that could wake the dead was completely uncalled for.  

Things were fine until the ice began to crack. At first, there were only a few hairline cracks. Jack did not pay much attention to them since most of the village children liked to ice-skate on that lake; a few cracks were expected, and they will ice over the following day. When the cracks grew in size, Jack’s dread grew with them. His horror spiked when the cracks slither sinisterly under his sister’s feet.

She whimpered pitifully as she tried her best to stay still. With cracks rippling from beneath her feet faster than Jack could anticipate, hot tears flowed down her cheeks in rivers as she began to tremble like a leaf. Soft cries of apology and garbled pleas to rescue her made Jack’s stomach sink as he realized that maybe one of them might not make it out alive.

He was adamant his sister not be that someone.

With a few playful teasing, gentle coaxing and skillful misdirection, he managed to throw his sister out of harm’s way with a dexterous twist of his shepherd’s crook.  Just in time before the ice completely caved into the lake, and he with it.

* * *

 

Jack could not remember much, save for his sister’s screams, the shocking cold and the encroaching darkness. He did remember coming to with a splitting headache and the bawling lump that was his sister glued onto him. His mother stood behind her, heaving sobs of relief into her hands as the doctor packed his medical supplies, looking haggard but reassured that Jack would be just fine.

Things took several rapid turns when snow promptly shot out of Jack’s hands and dusted the room in thin layers. No one said a word until Jack sat up in surprise and flung his blanket aside. There was a mad rush to duck when icicles fanned out from his fling and embedded themselves deeply into the walls, the momentum strong enough to splinter the wood on impact.    

Extensive examinations and check-ups were done on Jack, but the doctor could not figure out what gave Jack his ice powers. It was speculated that the near-drowning, coupled with the winter season, sparked something in Jack that caused his abilities to blossom forth.  News traveled like a wild fire in summer around the small village, and within a fortnight there was not a single soul who had not heard about Jack’s unusual condition.

Reactions had been mixed. Some of the villages believed Jack had been possessed by some dormant supernatural forces when he fell into the lake and avoided him like the plague. They also made sure their young children never interacted with Jack; he quickly learnt that even tiny looks could earn sharp stones hurled in his direction. Others, mainly the older children who had just discovered the joys of rebelling and teen angst, thought his new found powers were edgy. They nicknamed him “Jack Frost” after the popular children’s tale of a winter sprite famous for his trickery. Jack did not mind the nickname much.

His mother and sister were very supportive of him, going on the defensive when some of the more troublesome villagers tried butting heads with Jack. His mother’s protective nature was understandable; almost losing your only son can do things to you. His sister was stricken with guilt for Jack’s almost drowning, and did everything humanely possible to ensure he was not bullied for his abilities. For such a small little frame, she can definitely pack a mean right hook. Hair pulling and biting were always a boon when defending family.  

As days turned into weeks, Jack’s physical appearance made subtle changes. His dark brown hair slowly turned snow white, and his chocolate eyes tinted ice blue. These changes only heightened the already existing conflicts of animosity and amazement among the villagers. Eventually, things got so out-of-hand that Jack decided to leave the village, much to his family’s dismay and devastation.

They implored him to stay. Who would look after the sheep and chickens? Who would take care of the house? Who would care for his ailing mother? Who would entertain his sister and play with her?

Jack did not like it any more than they did, but he was clearly miserable with the growing divide among the villagers. He may be a prankster, but he had never wanted such chaos, and he did not want to cause more unnecessary trouble than he already did.  After many nights of endless debates, he managed to convince his family that leaving is the only way to avoid an all-out internal war. He also made arrangements with Jamie and his family, one of the more accepting families in the village, to check in on his family twice a week. Jamie had only been all too eager to help out his best friend.

The next day before sunrise, Jack packed some money and bundled the few clothes and supplies he owned into a makeshift bag before tying it to his shepherd’s crook. He gave the teary-eyed women in his life good-bye hugs as Jamie stood quietly near the door, watching the scene with a heavy heart. Jack prolonged the hugs, knowing it could be a very long time before he saw his family again, maybe the last time. As he marched out the door, he put on a brave front and shook Jamie’s hand thankfully. Jamie returned the favour with a somewhat toothy smile, earning light chuckles all round as they reminiscent their more carefree days.

Jack never looked back. He was afraid that if he did, he would change his mind and run back into the arms of his loved ones. So he steeled himself, hardened his heart just a little, and walked on.

He did allow a lone tear to trickle down his cheek before it froze into a snowflake and dispersed into the warm, yet bittersweet Spring air. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About the doll head popping part? True story with a cousin of mine. 
> 
> Never did like those Barbie dolls, what with their creepy smiles and those over excessive shocking pink accessories. The movies were okay though.
> 
> My first multi-chapter fic. I figure if I wanna get published eventually, there's no better time than now to start practising. I'll do my best to keep to my 'once a month' promise and get the next chapter posted asap. Stay tuned for the all-exciting meeting between Jack and Bunny in the next chapter!


	2. Into a Haunted Castle We Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An impending storm meant Jack had to take shelter as soon as possible. As luck would have had it, he stumbled upon a structure that looked like something out of a nightmare. 
> 
> Should he go inside and spend the night there, or take his chances in the forest? Decisions, decisions, decisions...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I use British English, so certain words will take on a different way of spelling. Like “color” vs. “colour”, “realize” vs. “realise”, and “practice” vs. “practise”. On a side note, I use “practice” when referring to the noun form. =P
> 
> As promised, the next monthly update is up. I had a bit of trouble describing the castle, but then I decided "less is more". Among other writer's blocks, that is. 
> 
> I've also included a surprise at the end of this chapter as a BIG thank you for reading Witch's Heist. If you can read the entire chapter without peeking at it, well, kudos to you!

Jack jerked awake suddenly, nearly falling from his perch, on a high branch of the tree overlooking most of the forest below. He stabilised himself, his grip on his shepherd’s crook tightening as he regained his foothold. He ran a hand through his hair unconsciously and winced as his fingers caught on tangles.

“How long has it been since I was clean?” Jack grimaced as he scrubbed at his eyes and sighed, looking out longingly towards the far end of the forest from whence he came.  “I wonder how Mom, Sis and Jamie are doing. It’s been so long since I left…”

To be precise, it had been three years since that day. It was not the life he had in mind, but it was quiet and he was free to do what he wanted. There was no one to bother him on the roads, no one to scream blue murder at the sight of him, no one to fuss over his powers, and definitely no one to throw sharp and pointy objects at him.

At least one good thing came out of his travels; he got the chance to expand his horizons beyond his tiny village. Jack had always been an inquisitive boy, which meant he learnt new things faster than most people did. Three years spent traversing the lands meant Jack had amassed an impressive library of knowledge. His days in the wilderness had also armed him with a lethal arsenal of self-defense techniques with his shepherd’s crook.

Who knew a gangly piece of wood could be so deadly in a head lock?

His curiosity also extended towards his gift of ice and frost. Jack figured if he was going to live with these powers for the rest of his life, he might as well learn how to use them. Like most boys his age, Jack was a hands-on person; he preferred to feel things out cautiously before diving headlong into reckless experimentation. He had lost count of the number of trees that got frosted over with wild abandonment, or the mountain of boulders he had obliterated with his icicles.  

He was also pretty sure he had accidentally induced forced hibernation to several forest creatures along the way. Jack was not sure whether he should be pleased with this new-found discovery of physiology manipulation, but on the plus side things were no longer blown into icy smithereens.

On the other hand, popping ice glaciers like fireworks was always a great way to celebrate lonely _Life-days_.      

Not to mention that thanks to his powers, he had very little problems with bandit ambushes and wayward raiders during his travels. He had gotten more in touch with his artistic side carving ice sculptures out of them than his usual woodworks. In fact, Jack’s favourite prank was to frost over their feet and have a good laugh watching them flail like tipped-over tortoises. Rescuing defenseless farmers on the side was also a bonus. Who can refuse the offer of a hot meal and a warm bed as reward?

Assuming they were willing to overlook his unusual appearance and did not witness any display of frigid prowess, that is.   

Jack’s stomach growled at the thought of food, and he felt in his pocket for the last piece of bread, now growing mould, and examined it.  He turned it over in his hands, trying to decide if he should eat it, throw it away for the mould, or save it for when the hunger pangs started again. After much pondering, he tucked the bread back into his pocket and pulled his knees up to his chin, careful not to fall off the branch again. 

“I really must keep a close reign on these powers…maybe it’s best for me to wait till nightfall,” Jack shuddered as he ran a cool and cautious finger along the healing cut on his cheek where a recent cider bottle had passed too close. Frost healing was a recent discovery that Jack welcomed wholeheartedly. “Last time I helped out a drunkard being mugged. The brute deserved what was coming to him.”

He looked around at canopy of trees. “There must be a farmland nearby, maybe a valley just beyond the forest. I got to find more food soon, maybe some money. With the coming of first frost it’ll be difficult to forage for berries and tubers.”

He signed more heavily this time and slid from the tree, landing lightly on his feet. “Guess I’ll be celebrating another lonely _Life-day_ again, not that there’s anyone to do it with anyway.”  He began to do some light stretches and set a few creeks in his neck right. “Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll find another glacier to pop along the way.”

After loosening his stiff muscles, Jack straightened before slinging his shepherd’s crook and belongings over his shoulder. He looked towards the far end of the forest and grinned.

“Bet I can get out of this forest before the next dawn,” he challenged himself.

Silence answered him.

* * *

 

“It’s like a dwelling of ghosts,” Jack thought as he crept through the foggy forest undergrowth in the evening. His footsteps sounded loudly as they slapped against the packed earth of a small trail. He fancied he could hear the ghoulish wails of vengeful spirits, and the sorrowful moans of the betrayed. If he squinted hard enough, he was sure he could just make out angry glowing reds and ambers peeking through the shrubbery. It was as if a veil had hung between him and his surroundings, keeping him in limbo.

Years spent telling his sister spooky stories to scare her senseless had finally backfired in the form of a hyperactive imagination. Jack quickly broke into a run, wanting to get out of the parody of supernatural stirrings running through his head.

“ _Keep it together, Jack!_ Your imagination is running away with your mind!”

He kept running through the forest as night approached, unable to think about anything except the rhythm of his feet on the ground and the memories of his family, of happier times. His mind just went blank until the ground stopped its rise and fall, the thorny bushes and shrubs gave way to barren land, and barren land turned into a stony footpath.  

Jack slowed, and only now found his legs were trembling from hours of hiking and running. Finally they gave out, sending him tumbling forward along well-worn rocks. 

“I made it…the forest is behind me…”

He felt his consciousness slipping from over-exertion, along with a thudding pain in his temple. Everything seemed to be spinning and churning like a warped kaleidoscope. Jack moved his free hand to his head has he tried to withdraw his mind from quickly invading shadows.

 _“Not goin’ to hurl not going to hurl not goin’ to hurl…,”_ the mantra Jack chanted repeatedly in his head did nothing to ease his headache. In fact, it seemed to beeline it towards a full-blown migraine.  

When the throbbing spasms finally receded, Jack got up the strength to open his eyes, squinting into the darkness. “W _here am I_?”

As his vision cleared, he was met with decaying tree branches that stretched out towards him like wicked skeletal hands. A sudden gust of wind hissed through them and they lunged towards him murderously. Jack squeaked before scuttling backwards as fast as his weakened limbs allowed.

He reached out with his shepherd’s crook quickly and fired a shot of frost and snow towards the tree. It arched backwards in an agonizing angle as the ice landed its mark before snaking across the tree sinuously, encasing it in a sturdy ice coffin. The tree caved in upon itself after a few bated breaths.   

Unnerving tree vanquished, Jack closed his eyes and heaved a sigh of relief. He started to shake his head to clear his mind, then thought better of it as it made his ears ring. When he reopened his eyes, they zeroed in reflexively on the structure behind the frozen tree stump.

This time, he had to muffle his screams by shoving a fist into his mouth. His grip on his shepherd’s crook tightened until he could feel the splinters sinking into his flesh.

For behind the stumpy block of ice stood the most imposing and foreboding building he had ever seen.  Standing some 20 yards back from where he sat, guarded by black steel railings, stood a derelict and creaky relic of Victoriana on a bleak and desolate hilltop. It was dingy grey-black, paint-flaked and neglected, its boarded-up broken window panes smeary with age and dirt, its brickwork crumbling away. Wings facing the four compose directions cut menacingly into the night sky, as if trying to claw the very Heavens into shreds. Adorning every visible corner was all manner of gargoyles and carvings, the Gothic touches held a sinister threat of evildoings within. The stony path to the gates was overgrown with bushes and brambles whose thorns reached out to capture the unwary.

The very air Jack breathed was so sticky and heavy with malice, he had to curl into a ball to avoid passing out from sheer revulsion.

He uncurled from his fetal position after recovering a little from his nausea. His instincts were screaming at him to run as far away from the castle as possible; that it would be a much better idea to spend the night in the forest again. Nice, safe treetops or a possibly haunted castle with looks that could possibly…maybe…definitely kill? Gee, I wonder…

The Heavens answered him with streaks of white lightning and booming thunder that reverberated through the skies.

Jack’s expression could not have been more ironed on even if he tried.

He glanced wearily back towards the castle and swallowed. His instincts were not only shouting at him to make a break for it, they were also hammering against his skull in a bid to overwhelm all other senses.

Common sense included.

Eventually, practicality won out in the form of a lightning bolt that struck a spot too close. Even if he had to sleep in a grimy room overstuffed with cobwebs and mildew, at least he would be dry from the impending thunderstorm. Jack was certainly no stranger to less inviting sleeping quarters.

As he made his way towards the castle gates, he chanced a peek over the stone bridge and immediately regretted giving in to his curiosity. The moat below was littered with bones, sinew, and other forms of smoldering bits that floated and bobbed in the murky waters. Dead trees drooped precariously from the hill side, poisonous-looking fungi and moss flourishing across the branches that stabbed into the rank waters. The stench, mixed with other unspeakable smells, was so rancid, Jack’s eyes could not help but water as he choked and gagged in disgust. He clamped his hands over his face and hurried towards the castle. Despite his haste, he managed to stop short in front of the looming rickety castle gates. He broke into a cold sweat and gulped down nervously before giving the castle another closer look.      

There was a cold, musty damp smell about the place standing amidst a gloomy backdrop of blackened chimney pots in the dim light of a half moon. Upon closer inspection, with the smashed first floor panes and foundations enveloped with gaunt prickly vines, the whole castle looked like something out of a ghastly nightmare.  The plethora of sculptures and carvings looked as if they could come alive any moment and devour any unsuspecting passer-by. Windows, once the eyes to an inviting abode, were now mostly blinded with rotting shutters.  Occasional rays of mysterious green light peered through the holes like thousands of wraith specks. The few windows that were not boarded up looked like soulless whirlpools that would suck the very life out of those whose stares lingered too long.

Jack decided to frost over his body with a thin, but strong layer of icy armour, just as an added precaution.

As he reached the castle doors, his heart leapt to his mouth as the wind began to pick up and shriek a ghostly song through every nook and cranny of the castle. Jack paused for a moment to freeze the sweat off his clammy palms before rapping on the large weather-beaten doors. He could not hear anything from within over the sound of his chattering teeth and thumping heart.

Suddenly, the same sickly green glow exploded from the window above and the rusty knockers creaked as the doors opened gingerly. Jack saw his life flashed before his eyes when he realised there was _nobody_ behind the doors.

Another flash of lightning had him flying through the doors and into the main hall. His brain kicked in a little too late before the doors snapped shut on their own, plunging him once more back into pitch-black darkness.

“Wonderful, so much for getting out of the forest before dawn.”

* * *

 

Jack was pretty sure he might have offended some high entity in his past _Life_. That was the only way he could explain his current situation. With nothing to do, he decided to explore the interiors of the nightmare he was trapped in. And maybe find out where the bedrooms were located.

The nearest commode would be a blessing as well.  

Shadows seemed to swirl around Jack’s feet, sucking him into their forbidding depths. Through the middle of the hall path he tiptoed, a mist hovering around his knees and a spine-tingling eeriness chilling his very bones. The whole place was so devoid of any life and sound, the quietness of it all seemed excruciatingly loud to him.

The only thing the castle had in overabundance – besides an obviously slumbering evil – was paintings. Grisly portraits and macabre landscapes that bespoke of twisted stories. Jack reckoned whoever used to live in the castle – or currently living in it – was a mentally disturbed individual.

A cold shudder that had nothing to do with his ice powers trickled down his spine. Glancing around nervously, the somber paintings stared back at him from behind a layer of dust, as if they could penetrate his very being. Cold hesitant light streams in through cracks between disintegrating boards, casting ominous shadows on the walls. Streaks of lightning would lit up the entire hallway in short bursts of white, before it died back down into the darkness Jack was becoming strangely accustomed to. He could hear the autumn wind howling outside, and it almost sounded like crackling to his increasingly panicked mind.

As he walked forward, he could not help but feel that someone was following him. Arming himself with his shepherd’s crook and releasing tendrils of ice shards that twirled protectively around him, Jack spun around and scanned his surroundings as best as he could. He could see nothing but an empty corridor and a multitude of faces in the portraits staring at him. “Turn back,” they seemed to say, but Jack’s stubborn pride refused to allow it. So he bit back a nervous whimper and continued into the dark bowels of the castle.   

If Jack had been none the wiser, he would have thought he was intruding upon a witch’s coven.

He paused, then snickered to himself. “Pffft, just great, now I’m becoming Jamie II. Next thing I know that window on my right will probably lit up in that same greenish glow back then and-”

As if on cue, the same suffocating green glow faded into existence and shone forth through the bars of the very same window. Jack’s breath hitched as he stood rooted to the spot, his eyes bulging in fear as he turned towards said window with growing apprehension. The dust in the air danced and meandered towards him, beckoning him, _enticing_ him towards the ill-boding glow. Jack was vaguely aware that the thunderstorm outside had seemingly passed, the sudden silence almost deafening in the greenish hue and inky blackness of the hallway. He was being drawn in, pulled in, drowning all over again…  

A low chuckle broke him out of his stupor. It was followed by a shrill shrew-like laugh that pierced through the stillness and had Jack’s hair standing on end.

Against his better judgment, he hazarded a glimpse through the window, and was met with a strange and unsettling sight. It could only be described as the classic “villain plotting evil scheme” scene the elders used to tell in their stories back home.

The room he was peeking into was dark and dank save for a few well-placed lit candles, making it difficult for him to make out much.  He was positive though, that the creature cackling in the middle of the room was a woman. The presence of certain unique body parts aside, her entire demeanour and outfit practically screamed “bona fide witch”.

She was pale and alarmingly thin, meaning what little features Jack could see looked overly exaggerated in the dim light. Slightly wrinkled with big eyes, a long pointy nose with a mole, and greasy black coils bundled up into a beehive crown; she looked wonkier than a helter skelter. Her clothes were garish and hideously coordinated, doing nothing to flatter her overall appearance. It definitely did not hide the slight hunch on her back, or her gnarled fingers and bright red claws.

The witch carried herself with an air of arrogance and superiority as she gazed into a large antique vanity mirror. She picked up a perfume bottle from the dresser and sprayed a liberal amount of scented mist onto the mirror. The mist seeped into the mirror and swirled in a myriad of coloured smoke and shimmers before settling into a muted green colour. Unlike the nauseating green glow of the castle, this green was gentle and warm, like a refreshing breeze on a cozy Spring afternoon.

If there were any lingering doubts Jack had in the existence of supernatural beings, they had been wiped away cleanly and completely.  

A silhouette took shape and sprung up from the green haze. Jack could just make out a sturdy form with broad shoulders, thin waist and…were those… _rabbit ears_?

Suddenly, the mirror contents began to churn and contort as the witch chanted in a grating voice that made Jack’s skin crawl.  The once restful green had turned into a chaotic cauldron of unearthly shades. Flashes of poisonous purple lightning lashed forth from the mirror as the witch chanted faster. One in particular sailed right over Jack’s head before reducing a nearby end table to ashes.

The witch shoved a bony arm through the mirror and into the vortex of terror, never once stopping the flow of mantra. Suddenly, a bright white light burst forth from the mirror before the witch twisted her arm and pull it back. The same bright light condensed into a small ball in her fist before solidifying into a glass globe, the same green haze and purple lightning still stirring within to a lesser degree.

Jack could not see what was inside the globe, but if he had to guess, it should be that dark figure he saw in the mirror. He was not sure what it meant, but he was certain where the witch was concerned, it spelled disaster.

The combination of colours from the lights around the room and the glowing globe made the witch looked absolutely intimidating as she leaned in and spoke.

“Well well, if it isn’t the Easter Bunny. It’s been a long time, sweetums.”

Jack suspected he might have received some aftershock of the hex, because he definitely heard her say the words “Easter Bunny”. Then again, the ongoings within the last hour had been bizarre to say the least…

“You _Legends_ of all things mythical have had it too good for far too long. Us lil’ o magic folk aren’t even worth as much as a blink in your eyes, and that makes me mad.”

Jack was pretty sure there are plenty of other things that made the witch mad, be they worthwhile or not.

“So let me put it in simple terms even your little mind can comprehend, little bunny,” the witch sneered toothily, showing rows of glistening yellow teeth encrusted with inky black plague. Jack almost threw up.

“Make me a _Legend_ , or suffer my wrath,” She demanded, twirling the globe around loftily in her hands. “I can do _much worse_ than turn you into a cute little rabbit.”

Said probable rabbit in the globe of magic cloud was obviously not pleased with the terms laid out, because its answer was a kick at the glass walls in the witch’s direction. The witch squawked in surprise and lurched backwards, lost her balance and released her grip on the glass ball.

The glass ball tumbled forward and hit the floors with a resounding clank. The creature inside the ball (Jack still find it hard to believe it was a _rabbit_ ) saw its chance and began rolling the ball as far away from the witch as possible. With the witch grappling for purchase, Jack decided to lend a hand and frost a thin trail beneath the ball, leading it to nearby hole in the wall. He was mentally cheering as the ball bowled towards the hole, when the witch let out an enraged shriek.

 _“Well then, if that’s your final answer, you’ll just have to_ stay that way _until you change your mind!”_

She lunged forward and stabbed a claw-like finger at the ball. After a few mumbled words, the twitching ball was lifted off the ground suddenly and floated towards a dead fireplace.

That is, a fireplace that erupted into a raging green inferno with a snap of the witch’s free hand. As if sensing its impending doom, the creature inside the ball doubled its struggles; a last ditch effort into freeing itself from its confines, despite the fruitlessness of the situation.

With one effortless swing of her arm, the ball was flung into the fireplace. An earth-shattering explosion of starlight followed as the flames consumed the ball, shaking the very foundations of the castle. The unholy laugh that came after seemed to encourage the quakes further.

Jack gasped and clung onto the window ledge, hoping the castle would not total upon itself.

As the tremors slowed to a halt, Jack let out a relieved sigh as he collapsed onto the floor, shaken up from what he had just witnessed. Minutes passed as he tried to gather his bearings from the horrors of that room. With the last deep calming breaths, he chanced another peek into the window and immediately regretted his decision.

A hand reminiscent of the tree he had iced over reached out towards him and the next thing he knew, he felt a thousand needles piercing his body. It was like being burnt alive and drowning at the same time, the liquid fire coursing through his body mercilessly. The pain so intense, it sent all of Jack’s senses into overdrive, making him more aware of the sheer agony tearing into his very being.

As suddenly as it appeared, the shock disappeared, leaving him utterly weak and limp. Finally, his body gave out. His head collided with the stone floors, and the world went black.

 

                                                   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vocabulary:
> 
> Life-day - the day of birth of an individual, A.K.A birthday. 
> 
>  
> 
> About Jack being electrocuted? Well, let's just say inspiration came in the form of the company where I did my internship. It has some really weird doorknobs; static electricity seemed to run the place. 
> 
> The doodle of Jack witnessing the witch in action was a spur of the moment thing. Hope you guys like it. =P
> 
> Technically, Jack did not quite meet Bunny face-to-face, but it's still considered as a pseudo-meeting, right? *ducks bricks*
> 
> That being said, what you can expect for the next chapter: Bunny and Jack actually do meet face-to-face, and Jack's snark does not amuse Bunny the least bit.


	3. Prison Break!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack woke up with a splitting headache and found himself in the dungeon with a greyish-blue lump slumped over him. 
> 
> Talk about first impressions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I use British English, so certain words will take on a different way of spelling. Like “color” vs. “colour”, “realize” vs. “realise”, and “practice” vs. “practise”. On a side note, I use “practice” when referring to the noun form. =P
> 
> The July update is here! Things are getting a little interesting between Jack and Bunny. Now that they are properly introduced, will they work together and help each other get out of the dungeons? Or kill each other first? Onwards, readers!

Jack’s mother had always said one of these days his nosiness would land him in hot water. Well, the water was practically boiling over now.

Jack woke up with the most searing headache possible. When memory caught up with him like a ferocious storm unleashed only a split-second later, he also remembered he should be very happy he even still _had_ a head.

“Ow...,” the self-taught ice mage groaned and winced in pain. Being electrocuted by a clinical kook was _definitely_ not on his to-do list of the day, much less being thrown into…wait, where was he, exactly?  

As blue eyes finally blinked open, Jack was able to form a rather blurry picture of his surroundings as the world slowly shifted into focus again. He was lying on some damp mass…straw? His nose twitched; the air was chilly, damp and stale, and everything else was bathed in a nauseating greenish twilight, saved for a few miserably lit candles that flickered feebly.  There was no noise discernible apart from his own laboured breathing. Surrounding him were walls of black stone, the room he was in seemingly small and claustrophobic.

Jack tried to sit up…

“…There’s something on top of me…,” Jack concluded when he felt something heavy on his chest.

Said something stirred lightly.

“… and it’s… _alive?!_ ” Every single previous observation became entirely unimportant as he came face-to-face with a beaten-up, unconscious greyish-blue-furred small body of the single thing lying eagle-spread across his chest.

A hoarse whimper escaped Jack’s throat before he could stop it as he buckled the body off himself and immediately scrambled towards the nearest wall. The body was thrown a fair distance from Jack and rolled to a sluggish stop on the other side of the cell. 

Jack stared in the direction of the still lump in horror as he tried to calm himself down, breathing deeply and hugging his shepherd’s crook like a lifeline. Even though that thing had yet to chew his face off, he was not ready to chance his luck where bodily harm was concerned.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he took another closer look at the body. It was breathing steadily, its small frame rising and falling in even instances; a sure sign that it was in deep sleep.  Something niggled at the back of his mind that he had seen the furry figure somewhere before, but he could not quite put his finger on it. Realising the slumbering thing was not going to wake up anytime soon, his curiosity got the better of him (again) and he began to creep towards the body.

He probably should have learnt the dangers of giving into his prying habits by now, but then you try to be coherent when you are stuck in an unfamiliar place with a mysterious lump of fur for company.

Jack half-crawled and half-dragged himself over to where the body lay, his own body still hurting, muscles cramping and energy reserves near-drained from that one shocking episode, though he could tell he was not seriously injured. Yet. What about that body…?

He knelt by the body as he casted a gentle glow with his staff, and was surprised to see a rabbit upon closer inspection. A greyish-blue furred rabbit with flower-like imprints on its forehead and shoulders, wearing leather wrappings on its feet.

Surprise turned into dumbfounded when he recognised the body to be the…hypothetical…Easter Bunny the witch had magicked up and trapped in a bubble some time back. The very same bunny-in-a-ball he had tried to aid in its escape.

He quickly began checking for damage, hands running over the slightly singed pelt, but fortunately could not find any broken bones or anything else life-threatening. Just skin-deep cuts and some bruises, which can be easily mended over with Jack’s frost healing skill. Apparently, they were both okay…

“Which still does _not_ change the fact that we’re also in some godforsaken prison,” Jack mused with a mental scowl. Now that the rabbit’s condition (who would probably wake up soon after the frost heal did its job) was not an immediate concern anymore, thanks to the added glow from his staff he was also able to easily take stock of their surroundings in full.

Not that there was much to take stock of in the first place.

It was a dark and nearly featureless dungeon room of cobblestone, and was closed off to the corridor outside by a row of thick iron bars. The cell was about three by three metres wide, with moss growing from each nook and crevice. Depressions dotted the floor sporadically, perhaps where people or beings of the otherworldly sort were kept for extended periods of time. It was filled on the side with a pile of straw that Jack had woken up on, weakly illuminated by a small, half-round barred window high in one wall that let very little moonshine in.

There were also rings with chains embedded into the walls, with hammered metal shackles on the floor. Jack and the rabbit had remained unbound for some strange reason. Perhaps the witch had thought them unable to escape the dungeon under current “reduced” circumstances, but Jack was never one to speculate on the inner workings of a witch’s mind. Jack finally rose from his crouch next to the rabbit when he had made doubly sure the other was really okay as could be expected, then limped over to the bars to peer out into the corridor.

So, his status had turned from travelling ice mage to prisoner now. What had happened after he had been knocked out? How long had it been since then? What was the witch planning to do about them now? Jack’s head was a mess of questions and migraine, and unfortunately, when he looked out into the dimly lit corridor and saw other similar-looking cells lined up like death row, he immediately knew his situation had gotten much worse.

Jack would have iced over the bars and blasted his way out if he could, but his powers were still recovering, and there was no telling what the witch might have done to the bars. He spied a suspicious black stain near the bars on the floor, and he shuddered to think of what it probably was.

And to think all he wanted was a nice, dry place to take shelter for a stormy night. _Life_ does seem to enjoy throwing him for a loop for its own amusement.

He cast a glance over at the still unconscious greyish-blue form. It was already night time, judging from the darkness outside, and if he (and the rabbit) stood any chance of escape, he had to do it within the next few hours…

“ _Ugh_ … that bloody mongrel of a sheila…”

Jack’s ears twitched at the unexpected comment. He was pretty sure he and the rabbit were the only beings with pulses in the dungeon, and nobody had come through the main prison door since he last settled by the bars. He sensed no other presences nearby, and he certainly would have recognised his own voice. That meant the owner of the mystery remark had to be…

Blue eyes clouded with apprehension as they reluctantly turned towards the only other occupant in Jack’s cell. He was met with the sight of a disgruntled rabbit returning to the land of the conscious.

A rabbit that, apparently, could _talk_.

“…When I get my paws on that sorry excuse for a mare’s ass, I’m goin’ to pop ‘er head off and wipe ‘e floor with it.”

Make that a talking rabbit with a sour attitude to boot, if its venom-coated statements were any clue. 

Lovely.

“Hey there,” Jack greeted it. Niceties before personal opinion, his mother always said.

“Whu…?” the rabbit managed, blinking startling green eyes and moving its head a little, as it tried to shuffle into an upright position. Its legs immediately wobbled and gave way, and the first frowns of confusion started to scrunch up the – Jack unwillingly admits – cute face.

“Huh-hey, what’s this? Why am I…and who are you? What’s goin’ on?!” the rabbit croaked the last word, momentarily freezing up as it took in its current situation. Jack could practically see the memory jigsaw puzzles falling into place inside the rabbit’s head.

“Woah, hey, relax there, little guy!” Jack replied as he got up, pitching his voice several tones lower than usual. It was a handy trick when he needed to calm the more easily spooked and panicky sheep back home. If it worked on normal livestock, surely it would work on a rabbit, albeit a sentient one? 

The flash of scathing fury in the rabbit’s eyes proved that Jack’s theory was _way_ off its mark.

“Little? _Little?! What d’ya mean, ‘little’?!_ ” the rabbit raged, its fur bristling as it raised its hunches in ire. “ _I’m the_ Easter Bunny _, a proud_ Legend _warrior of seven-feet tall, Guardian of Hope and Life, Herald of Spring and a master of the Fighting Arts! I’ll have ya know I’ve swatted flies bigger than ya!”_ Huffing in indignation after its tirade, the rabbit rose on its hind legs and crossed its front arms in an attempt to look menacing. 

Jack could care less even if the rabbit was His Royal High-Horse, or Prince Shama-lama-ding-dong, or some other supposed entity; his sister had thrown far worse tantrums that made shrews cry. “Hate to break it to you, bun-I mean, Easter Bunny. But right now… ‘feet’ is more like ‘inches’, if you catch my drift.”

The grimace the rabbit was spotting deepened dangerously. “What are ya yammerin’ about?”

Jack silently pondered about the various, more diplomatic ways of letting down a vertically-challenged male lagomorph (judging by the deep bass voice) who obviously took pride in his height. After careful consideration, he conjured up a hefty slab of ice and set it firmly in front of the startled bunny. The rabbit gawked at Jack for a long moment, clearly taken aback by Jack’s display of ice magic, before he caught sight of his current state reflected on the polished surface.

There was a pregnant pause.

A series of sputters and growls, followed by howls of outrage, were let loose. The Easter Bunny’s eyes were near _glowing_ with sheer wrath; his tiny body looked ready to explode, lashed into a frenzy by its host’s rage. Jack undoubtedly could feel the anger radiating off the rabbit, and wisely refrained from saying anything. He knew very well that no matter what he said or did, it would only shortened the rabbit’s already frizzled fuse.  

 _Hell_ hath no fury like an Easter Bunny scorned. Size-wise, that is.

The rabbit turned towards Jack, his furious gaze burning holes into Jack’s head. “ _I am going to MAIM! THAT!! WITCH!!!”_

Jack was still unimpressed, nor intimidated. “Right, you go do that, because our current accommodations are simply _just_ peachy,” he said dryly, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed. In truth, he really was sympathetic of the Easter Bunny’s plight, but there were more pressing matters at hand that had to be taken care of.

Like busting out of the hellhole of a dungeon they were trapped in.

The rabbit’s answer was to level a withering look at Jack. The silent glaring contest stretched on for several heartbeats; Jack holding his ground while the rabbit’s front paws curled around the iron bars, nearly leaving an impression in them. Loathed was the Easter Bunny to admit, but in his current form he was as helpless as a newborn kit. Moreover, the boy had a height advantage and the somewhat unanticipated ice magic on his side. The rabbit made a mental note to interrogate the boy about that later.

The Easter Bunny looked at the gangly boy. Jack stood there, head tilted to one side, his eyes bright and shining, expression ever curious. Feet void of any footwear occasionally tapped the floor in impatience while his thin hands were crossed in front of his chest, his shoulders squared in challenge. His overall posture suggested a self-assurance backed by a not unimpressive ego, sharp wits and fighting skills.

When Jack raised an eyebrow, as if to ask “Well?”, the rabbit sighed.

“Fine!” the rabbit declared in displeasure and jabbed a paw decisively at Jack. “But don’t think for a moment that I’m happy about this. I’m only doing this to restore my original form.”

Jack shrugged dismissively. “Whatever.” He reached for his shepherd’s crook and began prodding the bars, trying to test for possible wiggle room through the gaps. “By the way, you’re welcome.”

It was the rabbit’s turn to raise an eyebrow. Jack almost snorted at the somewhat comical look. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” Jack replied in a sing-song voice that began to grate on the rabbit’s nerves. “Just that I helped heal your wounds while you were out cold. Y’know, when you go boom in the fireplace?”

The rabbit’s other eyebrow joined its counterpart. “Y-you…you healed me?” With that, paws quickly began combing through greyish-blue fur, paw pads touching down on the more sensitive short-furred skin underneath, skin that had hardly ever been touched even by the rabbit itself. Apart from a distinct lack of lacerations and burnt marks, the few scars and bumps the rabbit managed to locate felt surprisingly cool to the touch. It did not take long for the rabbit to put two and two together and arrive at a certain ice mage crouching on all fours in search for a way out.   

The Easter Bunny blinked, feeling as if waking from a trance. He continued to sit for a moment, trying to process what might have happened. Jack left the rabbit to his thoughts as he continued to tap and prod the cell for any signs of loose stones or rickety bars.

A fluffy white chest heaved with a sigh that was followed by a wince. Now that the rush of new understandings was wearing off, the rabbit could also feel all the places where the witch had hit him, his midriff and snout throbbing dully and a tender spot on his thigh when weight was put on his left leg. These were replaced with a soothing tingle washing over the sore areas, like a gentle rejuvenating breeze.

_The boy saved me._

The realization sank through the Easter Bunny slowly but surely, like the tip of an iceberg slowing melting and trickling down. It was not a really thrilling piece of insight either.

Well, at least he was feeling a little better. The snarling fit back then had helped to release the anger that had built up since his capture. The rabbit took a deep breath, dislodged himself from his corner and hopped over to Jack.

Jack was nudging a block of chipped stone with the sharper end of his shepherd’s crook when he felt a brush of soft fur against his ankles. He said nothing as he continued to work his way around the lower regions of the cell, but he made sure to keep the rabbit within his peripheral vision. He was highly amused when the rabbit began pawing at nooks and crannies too small for Jack to investigate.

“So, cottontail, any charades, or do we start to look for a way out now?”

The rabbit whipped around to face Jack so fast, it was a wonder the whiplash had not yet unhinged his head.

“My name is _Bunnymund_! _E. Aster Bunnymund!_ ”

Jack felt his face breaking into a smirk, which only infuriated the rabbit further.

“Really now? Bunnymund?” Jack asked smugly, tapping a finger to his chin in mock confusion. “Wouldn’t have guessed it. I mean, a bunny named Bunny?”

The rabbit, or Bunnymund as Jack now knows, looked ready to one-up his prior outburst and sock Jack into next week, downsized Easter Bunny or not.

“Alright, alright,” Jack held up his hands to appease the simmering rabbit. “Bunnymund the Easter Bunny. Nice to meet you, name’s Jack Frost.”

Bunnymund paused and gave Jack an incredulous look.

“Long story. It’s complicated.”

The rabbit said nothing. Jack took that as his cue to steer the subject back to the problem at hand. “So, I’ll look through this area-,” Jack gestured roughly towards the left side of the cell. “-you through this one?”

Bunnymund raised an eye ridge, and then shrugged. “Suits me.”

Both boy and rabbit started digging through damp straw and crawling around the floor, poking and prodding areas of interest and peering into holes that could be widened into probable escape passages.

“By the way…”

Jack looked up from examining the various rings and chains dangling from the walls. “Yes?”

“Thank you…for saving me.” If rabbits could blush, Bunnymund would have made a convincing tomato substitute. His ears were pressed backwards in embarrassment, fur standing on end and fluffy tail erect as he hastened to dig a trench into the stack of straw. Possibly to bury himself away and wait out the utter mortification he landed himself in.

Jack’s eyes widened in pleasant surprise before he smiled. “You’re welcome.”

Bunnymund’s ears twitched.

“Cottontail.” Old habits die hard.

Bunnymund stuck his head out of the straw pile, fur tips already bristling. “ _It’s Bunnymund, ya drongo!_ ”

Jack let out a joyful laugh, the first he had in a long time. Even with the harsh conditions and impending dangers he was in, he was still grinning and shaking with clear laughter until Bunnymund’s yell finally brought him up short. But a single look at his fuming companion only led him to break out into hysterics again anyway, much to the rabbit’s consternation.

 

* * *

A couple of hours later, a fatigued Jack slumped down next to the bars. Bunnymund, leaning against Jack, was wearing an expression of wearied contemplation.

“I give up. This cell has no weak points,” Jack moaned, again annoyed by the closeness of the cell, which he now imagined was restricting air ventilation. 

Bunnymund shook his head weakly. “No. It doesn’t.”

“Then what do we do now? I’m sick and tired of this place and I’m _starving_!” Jack had never liked whining, but given the circumstances he felt he should be entitled to a few exceptions.

“Well, first of all you let me think,” Bunnymund shot back and scowled at nothing in particular. In all honesty, Bunnymund was not faring any better than Jack. His transformation had left him totally sapped of his strength and powers, which did not help much in the mustering of energy to simply _think_ after scouring the cell for hours. And judging by the weak, grey sunlight filtering through the bars in the high, small window, the time frame gap of escape was closing very rapidly. The colour in the boy’s cheeks bespoke of his exhaustion, evident that his ice magic had not returned completely. All rigid and stiff, head resting heavily against the bars with a faraway look in his eyes, it was almost as if…

“What are you doing?”

“Do you see that?” Jack asked, gesturing towards the far end of the corridor with his shepherd’s crook.

Bunnymund’s whiskers twitched in curiosity as he hopped over to the bars and poke his head out, looking out into the corridor in the direction pointed out by Jack. He could just make out the faint outline of a suspicious-looking device with multiple levers and a network of wires branching from it. Bunnymund ran a paw under his chin as he looked up at Jack.

“Seems like some kind of operating device. Whatever its function, I’m not exactly eager to find out,” Bunnymund observed, his tone curt and movements practiced as he brushed imaginary dust off his fur. Jack had to stifle a small voice in the back of his head grumbling how it was so _unfair_ how seemingly clean and well-groomed the rabbit’s coat looked, despite his previous ordeal. His own appearance was not unlike a street mutt that had been through a wringer factory.

Jack shifted slightly from his position and seemed to be mulling something over in his head. When he looked at Bunnymund again, his face had become more serious and he took a breath.

“What if…,” he started, and then paused. Bunnymund raised a drooping ear in question as Jack furrowed his eyebrows further, as if he was debating with himself whether to say something. Finally, he spoke up.

“What if…that device _is_ our way out of this prison?”

“…What?” Bunnymund’s reply was a deadpan.

“Think about it! We’ve searched the entire place high and low for hours on end, and found no possible ways of escape. Even if I am at full power, I’m not sure blasting our way out in a hailstorm would be the safest route, what with all the commotion and noise it would cause,” Jack reasoned. Bunnymund stared at him silently for a moment, green eyes unreadable. He had to admit, for a boy who looked and behaved as if he was a fugitive from a funny farm, he was able to keep a cool head when need be, pun unintended.  

“We don’t have much time, and we’re running out of options. Even if it turns out to be a trap, even if it is actually an alarm system, with your… er, Easter Bunny thing and my infallibleness, we can handle it as they come. The least we can do is try, right?” The hope and confidence in Jack’s voice was so palpable, Bunnymund could practically taste it. 

“And how do you propose we find out what it does?” Bunnymund asked pragmatically. Dubious ego aside, he did find Jack’s suggestion tempting (he could hardly argue where fighting his way out was concerned). However, there was still the question of getting out of the cell they were currently stuck in. Unless either of them was the size equivalent of an anorexic belly dancer, none of them would be able to squeeze through the bars, let alone slip through them.   

Jack’s answer was a grin that could only be described as nefarious. “What makes you think I don’t already have a plan?”

“Wait, what?” Bunnymund blinked, and instantly found a hand on his back holding him in place just a bit more insistently. The grip was not strong enough that he could not have broken it, but it did mean he had to stay where he was for the moment.

“What are ya – GAH!” Bunnymund jerked abruptly with a gasp in the very next second, as suddenly something cold and wet was pressed against his lower abdomen. The grime and pebbles on the floor tossed and tumbled when the body of the Easter Bunny bucked at the unwelcome sensation, reminding the midget-sized _Legend_ that they were still in the dungeon – and that morning will soon be upon them.

But still, despite death imminent in the very near future, there was also a bundle of straw laden with some cold and viscous fluid annoying his midsection right _now_. After all, a _Legend_ had to set priorities.

“What are you doing?!” Bunnymund asked frantically. Emerald eyes managed to focus themselves and looked downwards, where he could now see Jack’s hand clutching a bunch of straw, whispering something cold and liquid into them before rubbing it over his lower abdomen again. Bunnymund tried unsuccessfully to twist and escape the treatment.

“Lathering you up with a special icy concoction of mine,” Jack replied casually while winding his arms around the back of the rabbit. “I found a way to make ice slightly thicker and more _slippery_ during my travels. But it takes a _lot_ of concentration and energy to make it, and I’m not even at half full capacity. So hold still!”

The subtle intent behind Jack’s words did not escape a panicking Bunnymund, whose renewed efforts doubled his struggles with more shouting and futile kicking. Jack took everything in stride, applying more force in his hold on Bunnymund and using his height and weight to gain more leverage.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be out before you know it!” Jack said a little too cheerily before directing Bunnymund towards the widest gap and shoved the dripping, icy straw bundle into the _last_ place an unaware Bunnymund had wanted it to go.

Jack thought that the following shriek of the tiny rabbit as he flew through the bars could probably have been heard through the entire castle complex.

 

* * *

Bunnymund careened wildly down the corridor while yelling blue murder, trying to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling from _that_ one uncomfortable area. Miraculously avoiding potholes, various contraptions and several sharp, pointy things, he skidded to a screeching halt on his rump and slammed into something solid.

“…As soon as I’m out of here and restored into my proper form, I’ll have horrible revenge.”

Granted, Bunnymund supposed it might have been less uncomfortable if he had not struggled so much – even if it was no less embarrassing. The lather-up had been brief, but done with much vigour on Jack’s part. Despite the humiliating process, at least he was out thanks to Jack’s recklessness. Bunnymund scowled faintly as he nursed an aching nose, grimly supposing he might be sore for a while.

He stopped short when he realised he was sitting right in front of the machine Jack had hinted at him to investigate.

“…make that horrible, _horrible_ revenge _right after_ I get that bloody show-pony out.” 

 

* * *

Jack sneezed as he leaned against the wall, cleaning days of accumulated muck off himself with a fresh handful of straw.

“Huh, that went well,” he sniffled, tossing the filthy bunch into a nearby pile of used straw. Now that he had gotten the grump of a megalomaniac out, Jack could feel that previous twinge of apprehension he had been trying to ignore welling up in his mind. In retrospect, his plan had involved getting Bunnymund out of the cell to examine the machine. And that was assuming it _was_ the mechanism responsible for all the prison doors to begin with. It also meant his chances of escape were heavily dependent on a rabbit who could have easily taken off the moment he was _free_. 

“Stop it, this fear is just stupid,” he mentally chided himself. Jack resisted the urge to bite his lip, to frown at his own irritation with himself for being so… _weak_ …to his own irrational fear.

On the other hand, Bunnymund is the kind of guy (or animal) who paints his feelings on his proverbial sleeves for all to see. It does not take a genius to figure out teased grouches like him would automatically cement and foster a smoldering resentment towards the teaser. Jack was hoping that would be enough to spur Bunnymund to get him out, even if it was to pound him into oblivion.

Then again, prior experiences with trust had also taught him otherwise. “Just like how neighbours once chummy with you just turned on you the moment they learnt you are a… _freak_ ,” a treacherous voice in his own head muttered bitterly, and Jack tried to crush it, but could not quite manage that. “Who’s to say Bunnymund would even _have_ a grudge against you? You’re basing all these ‘what if’s on-,”

And then Jack managed to clam that thought up and shove it down the deepest pits of his thoughts. No point thinking about all these ‘what if’s when the deed has already been done.  For a moment, the sheer, intense _seriousness_ of it all almost let another shiver run through the white haired boy, letting the ice mage’s heart briefly clenched a bit. He shook his head, trying to keep himself together.

“Wonder how Cottontail is doing ove-” Jack cut his own train of thought off when the bars began humming ominously. There was a sharp creak, followed by an agonizingly groan as the bars lurched upwards and cranked steadily into the ceiling.

Jack wasted no time, shooting out of the confining cell and into the wide open space that is the dungeon corridor.

“Space…beautiful, glorious, space…,” the white-haired boy looked like he had just had a moment in the _Heavens_. He was almost drooling at the knowledge that he was _free_ , that he could just soak in all the wonder that is the wide expanse of walking room. That he could finally stretch and limber up without bumping into something every time he turned around.

 Then it hit him all at once.

_That rabbit…actually freed me._

Freed him, even if Bunnymund’s intentions might not entirely be in the right place. If this had been anyone else, Jack knew it would have set off the entire symphony of trust alarm bells in his head. But this, strangely with Bunnymund, this was…fine.

_A weird kind of fine, that is._

A dull drone punctuated with several crackles and whirring sounds interrupted Jack’s silent marveling at his own realisations.

“Oh right, Cottontail!” He tightened his grip on his shepherd’s crook and sped down the hall as fast as his stiff limbs allow.

 

* * *

 Jack was met with the unusual sight of a grey-blue bundle of fur staring gobsmacked at the somewhat sorry-looking mechanism that had, evidently, flared to life. Blinking red and green lights lit up and wandered sporadically across a dented surface in peculiar patterns. The levers were stuck in odd angles, looking either twisted, smashed in, or broken off. Numerous interconnected wires pulsed with energy, coursing at offbeat intervals through the ceiling and into the many dungeon cells. Probably that was how all the barred gates were controlled, though Jack was not willing to be a test subject again.

In short, the entire machine looked like it had seen better days. Most likely Bunnymund’s handiwork, if the tiny paw impressions dotting the structure were any clue.

Then Jack followed Bunny’s gaze and imitated his own version of a landed fish.

Both boy and rabbit were taking in the sight of the glowing red orb that looked completely identical to the green one Bunnymund was trapped in. With flashes of purple energy zipping around the globe, it was perched on a raised pedestal that had mysteriously appeared (or Bunnymund-triggered) in the middle of the machine. Seven metal rods connected in a ring surround the orb, holding it solidly in place like a macabre altar via the same purple static. Everything was alight with the red glow playing over the orb, the light curling and twinkling in places like reflections off a languid stream. 

“It’s already been ten minutes since we left that prison, and it’s déjà vu all over again,” Jack quickly recovered and snapped his fingers in front of the rabbit’s face. Bunnymund obediently twitched back to attention, though his eyes were still trained on the orb.

“Right, yes. Jail break in session,” Jack emphasised dryly. “This ringing any bells, Cottontail?”

Bunnymund remained resolutely fascinated with the happily glowing orb like a moth to flame. Jack resisted the urge to facepalm. Or slap the rabbit silly. Or come up with rabbit-related pet names just to annoy him for the sake of annoyance.

That is, until Bunnymund exclaimed in surprise, “ _North?!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is possible to make ice more viscous by applying a constant amount of stress on it over long periods of time. This perfectly natural phenomenon is better observed in glaciers; did you ever wonder why some glaciers curved inwards near water bodies? Chalk one up for science, yea! 
> 
> Of course, Jack didn't have time, which meant he needed to improvise and use a LOT more energy. And in case Bunnymund lovers are crying foul at Jack's borderline animal abuse method, Bunny wasn't hurt. Just had his pride wounded. 
> 
> YES! Finally, North gets introduced! In a ball, that is. You didn't think Bunny was the only one involved, do you? Where this story is concerned, including the other rotg characters is mandatory. 
> 
> What is his comical form? Feel free to guess and discuss. Stay tuned to find out. 8D


	4. Meeting North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack meets North for the very first time, Bunnymund being his usual grouchy self, the witch is nowhere to be seen, and everybody is still in the same miserable dungeon.
> 
> Some revelations were made known, and the decision to spring North might very well land all of them in hot soup. 
> 
> Or hot chocolate. Whichever floats North's sleigh, since it's his debut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I use British English, so certain words will take on a different way of spelling. Like “color” vs. “colour”, “realize” vs. “realise”, and “practice” vs. “practise”. On a side note, I use “practice” when referring to the noun form. =P
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry for this delayed update. I was supposed to have complete this chapter in August, but I came down with a really really...REALLY bad case of flu. Long story short, my fever recently broke and my doctor said it was due to a lowered immune system from my exam mugging period. Now that that period over, the flu decides to set in for a new agonizing period. 
> 
> I still have remnants of it right now (runny nose and coughs), but on the upside this was finished.
> 
> And now I'm going back to sleep until this flu blowout is curbed. Somewhat.

Jack suddenly had the sinking feeling that things had gotten a lot worse and bizarre, but was not sure why.

He just knew it had something to do with the moment Bunnymund cried “North”.

He did a quick visual sweep. Both of them were still in the same dismal corridor, surrounded by the ever present shroud of nausea-green twilight.  The area they were standing in was all but dominated by a huge droning machine that sat among a web of wires, like a voracious spider ready to ensnare the unwary.

Said “unwary” happened to look like the oddly familiar ball Cottontail was trapped in. It sat on a pedestal on top of the machine like some grisly sacrificial offering, and was filled with cherry-red smoke instead of Bunnymund’s nature-green. He could just feel the beginnings of a migraine as he imagined a second Bunnymund kicking up a fuss inside the ball.

_Fate, why do you hate me?_

“Bunnymund! Is zat _really_ you?!”

Jack’s ice blue eyes grew as big as the glass ball. He must be more drained than he thought he was if he could _hear_ his own imagination.

“ _Bunny!_ Is long time no see! You’ve shrunk into cute, well, bunny!” the creature-within-a-ball-of-red-smoke guffawed jovially. Bunnymund’s eyes narrowed dangerously while Jack gave a dry chuckle. 

“Careful, North. You’re _lucky_ I’m…small.”

The loose-cannon-within-a-ball-of-red-smoke cheerily ignored the thinly veiled threat to address Jack.  “And who is this boy? Hmm…a bit too scrawny and frail, but no matter! When I get out of here, you come to my place. Good ol’ _Santa’ll_ fatten you up with lots of cookies and treats, ya? Put some meat into ‘em bones!”

Jack gaped, lost several words back the moment “Santa” was mentioned.

_Hey, Santa. How’s it going?_

_Hi, Santa, Never mind that you and the Easter Bunny seemed to know each other. I’m early for Halloween this year and my Jack Frost costume is still a work in progress._

_…Did you just call yourself “Santa”, as in_ the _“Santa Claus”, and why are you in a_ ball _like Cottontail?!_

Of all the three greetings that raced through Jack’s head, the third seemed to be the most appropriate.

As the figure pressed forward onto the glass, a cloud of red smoke parted dramatically to reveal a smoothly polished wooden doll of _the_ one childhood _Legend_ beloved by all ages, including Jack himself (until he had to grow up), around the world. Painted with bright reds and rich browns, the doll showed Santa Claus – or North, as he calls himself – as his jolly self surrounded by littler beings. Upon closer examination, Jack realised they also wore similar reds and browns, with the occasional splashes of green topped with jingling bells. Judging by the toothy grins and pointy ears, Jack suspected they could be Santa’s elves. Their cheeky demeanours also suggested they might not be as helpful as the stories had claimed.

Disbelieving, Jack took a closer step towards the machine, still staring openly. The doll gave another amused belly laugh in response.

“What is matter, boy? Too amazed at meeting the wonder that is Santa Claus, eh? Of course, of course, is not something you see every day! Go ahead and enjoy meeting the one and only Santa Claus up close, though I’m currently under…er…reduced circumstances.”

Apparently, North also has a huge ego. The agonized groan that Bunnymund gave meant this was not the first time he had to endure North basking in his own glory.

Jack finally found his speech again. “…no. So, the witch imprisoned you too?”

“As a matter of fa-”

“No, we were in those glass orbs because we find them so _pretty_ ,” Bunnymund grunted, cutting in with his knife-like cynical wit. “Look, I like catching up with ol’ chums as much as the next guy does, but can we get a move on before a certain basket case discovers our little jail break?”

Blue eyes widened in horror as pale lips parted slightly in shock. He knew Bunnymund was a grump, but Jack never knew him to be such a jerk.

“Could you excuse us for a moment, Mr. Santa Claus?” Jack grinned awkwardly as he hurriedly grabbed Bunnymund by the scruff of his neck. Bunnymund gave a surprised yelp and tried to wrest himself free.

“Of course, no problem at all! High time grumpy Bunny makes new friends!”

Jack was beginning to wonder whether North’s cluelessness was just a show to hide a (probable) brilliant mind, or if he really was that thick in the head.

“Great! We won’t be long,” Jack had trouble hiding the urgency in his voice now. He spun around and sped down the corridor, right back into the tiny cell he had escaped from. Jack dropped Bunnymund unceremoniously onto the pile of straw, earning an indignant squawk from the rabbit.    

“Alright, ya bugger. First off, ya do _not_ manhandle the Easter Bunny like some kind of…common beast! Second –,”

“Bunnymund! What the heck was that all about?! That’s _Santa Claus_ we’re talking to, you Knucklehead!”

The Easter Bunny looked taken aback for one moment, but then emerald eyes abruptly narrowed into warning slits.  “I don’t have ta tell ya anything, _Frostbite_ ,”Bunnymund snarled irritably, which ironically signaled to Jack that yes, Bunnymund was keeping something from him.  The “Frostbite” nickname was new; then again Jack had been called more colouful names during his travels.

Bunnymund proceeded to raise his hackles and flattened his ears stubbornly across his back. He stuck his chin out gruffly and proceeded to engage in another glaring contest with Jack.

Jack took a deep breath and waited for a few moments. When he spoke next, he made sure his voice was as calm, collected and reasonable as possible.

“Bunnymund, either you tell me what was going on back there _right now_ , or I swear I’m going to freeze your tail off, carve eggs out of it, and _make you eat them_.”

There was a pointed pause. 

Jack increased the flatness of his stare ever so slightly, and willed his shepherd’s crook to glow a very faint icy blue. It was not long before Bunnymund finally relented and sat back on his hunches in angry defeat. The miffed look told Jack the rabbit knew that their current clash-of-the-stubborn would only further aggravate their already flimsily-planned prison escape.

There was also a glint in his eyes that said the only reason why he had let Jack “win” was because he permitted him.

Talk about sore losers.  

“Look, kid. Ya don’t know that….that _clown_ …like I do,” the rabbit grumbled as he shot an annoyed glower at Jack while nursing his sore rump. This prompted a flabbergasted-looking Jack.

“…wait, we’re talking about that North, as in _the_ Santa Claus, right?”

“How many other eggnog gut blokes dressed in red and white bags o’ fruit d’ya know?”

Jack was not sure what some of the words meant, but he recognised an insult when he heard one. There was definitely some animosity between Bunnymund and North, though it seemed somewhat one-sided, given North’s lack of hostility towards the rabbit. Then again, Bunnymund barely tolerated his presence, so he could be just as grouchy to anybody. 

“I…uh…,” Jack had trouble forming a proper sentence here, mostly because there were so many unanswered questions and questionable details fighting for attention. Stories of a jolly old man dressed in red and white, riding a reindeer-drawn sleigh filled with bags of toys suddenly flashed across his head. None of them suggested anything that said otherwise of the merry character who had brought such amazing toys to the world. 

On the other hand, the same could be said about the Easter Bunny. Stories of how the hardworking rabbit brought beautifully painted eggs that symbolised new beginnings and hope to the world were aplenty. The actual quadrupled himself, however, was a whole new package of sugar, spice, and something decidedly _not_ very nice mixed in.    

Jack decided to finally focus on the one thing that he had been dying to ask Bunnymund.

“So, what is Santa Cla- I mean, North, like?”

Bunnymund frowned, trying to gather his thoughts.

“His name is Nicholas St. North. Most of us call him North for short. Like me, he’s also a _Legend_ ; the fabled mythical bringer of wondrous toys and gifts on Christmas Eve as you know, and thus the _Guardian_ of Wonder,” Bunnymund explained before his expression darkened.

“He…can also be bad news,” Bunnymund grounded out curtly, clearly remembering some unpleasant – or embarrassing – memories. “Once he starts talking, he can’t shut his cake-hole unless ya cramp it with cookies. His eggnog is usually spiked with booze and other questionable ingredients, yet he can guzzle down mugs of those things and then some. He’s loud, obnoxious, has an ego that needs its own country, demanding, impulsive, and doesn’t know when to get a clue! Thinks he’s king dick, always preaching ta me about how Christmas is loads better than Easter in every conceivable way. What a _bogan_!”

Jack stared dumbfounded at Bunnymund for a second, the issues he had with North evidently more deep-seated than he realised.

“Er…surely he has some redeeming points? After all, he’s…you know, Santa Claus?”

Bunnymund’s nose twitched as his brow furrowed in contemplation.

“Well, that gas bag may be an insufferable prick, but I suppose you can count on him to get you out of a pickle. He’s also a warrior; fights with the ferocity of a thousand mortal men, that ‘un. He’s got a heart of gold; good with the lil’ ankle biters, and will go to the ends of the world for his friends and loved ones. I guess he’s a decent ‘un, when he isn’t being a pompous oaf.”

Jack secretly wondered how Bunnymund managed to make a compliment sound like an offence.

“Look, we’re all prisoners here with a common goal,” Jack reasoned exasperatedly. “The least we could do is act civil to one another, especially since you and North are long-time acquaintances, alright?”

Besides, the last thing he needed was to babysit a couple of brawling and howling (mostly on Cottontail’s part) mini _Legends_.

As if reading that very train of thought, Bunnymund narrowed his eyes in suspicion at Jack.

“All I’m asking is, at least try to be a little nicer, okay? Pretty please?” Jack poured as much sincerity as he could into that question, even batting non-existent eyelashes for good measure. Bunnymund’s face scrunched up in sickly grimace.

“If you promise to never, _ever_ , do that eyelash batting thing again, I suppose I’ll give it a fair go,” Bunnymund consented reluctantly. “Ya look like a kanga loose in the top paddock doin’ that.”

Jack was not going to pretend he even remotely understood what that analogy meant, and so instead hoisted a startled Bunnymund up with his shepherd’s crook and dumped him into his hood. He quickly glanced at the sky outside, dawning with a palette of brightening reds, purples and oranges. Time was quickly running out, and he was getting edgy and eager to leave the place of his imprisonment.

A few things were also slowly beginning to click into place, like the fact that North was also a _Legend_ , for example, and its implications.

“I think I know now why the witch wanted you guys,” Jack speculated as he hurried down the corridor. “She must have thought one of you had the power to turn her into a _Legend_.”

“And if we refused to do it,” Bunnymund muttered darkly, hanging onto some of Jack’s locks to balance himself. “She turns us into these absurd forms and locks us up until her demands are met. Hah, I’ll teach that bloody old bag a thing or two if she dares try anything again. Besides, it doesn’t work that way.”

Jack raised a quizzical eyebrow. His interest was piqued. “How _do_ you become a Legend, exactly?”

Questioning blue eyes turned back to meet green orbs that suddenly looked very old and venerable. Those eyes took on a faraway look as memories flooded them, clear as a whistle, steady as a trickling stream.

“We answer to Tsar Lunar XII. He’s the World’s very first _Legend_ , and his job is to protect the dreams of all mortals. You have to prove you’re _Legend_ material through acts of courage, loyalty, dedication, honour and sacrifice. When you’ve proven your worth, Manny will call you to his side.”

“Ah, prove yourself a hero in order to be inducted into the ‘ _Legend_ ary’ Hall of Fame, so on and so forth, all that hogwash,” Jack concluded contemptuously. The elders back home often chronicled stories of heroism, valor and gallantry. The kids loved them, often donning makeshift wooden swords and scrap metal armour to reenact their favourite parts. Jack himself was a fan of those reenactments, preferring the role of a magic user to take out multiple “targets” at once. That is, until _that_ incident turned him into an actual ice mage.

Apparently, the real world hates real life heroes, no matter the shape or ability, even when said people used their skills to help those in need.

So much for the avocation of heroism.

He also did not trust himself to murmur those opinions under his breath, lest Bunymund’s sensitive ears picked it up. Jack did not need another whirlwind tirade, much less have it happened behind his skull.    

Then he blinked. “Manny?”

“We call the Tsar ‘Manny’. Most magical folk call him the ‘Man in the Moon’, since he lives on the Moon and all. Then North took to calling him ‘Manny’, and well, you can guess what happened next.”

Jack’s lips almost twitched as he imagined the larger than life character that is North bulldozing his way into Bunnymund’s face yelling, “Let’s call ‘Man in the Moon’ ‘Manny’!”

Jack’s gaze became pensive as he mulled over what he had learnt. Then a thought struck him.

“Wait, by magical folk, it should include that witch too, right?”

Green orbs narrowed in agitation. “Unfortunately.”

“In that case, shouldn’t she know the process of becoming a _Legend_ as well?” Jack wondered.  “She must have heard of Manny and how he selects his _Legends_. Her actions as they were, are… well… not exactly scoring her brownie points from Manny.”

A long ear flicked sporadically as he considered Jack’s question. “Few know what it takes to be a _Legend_. They know the necessary qualities, but do not know how to prove them. What they do know is that once you become one, along comes glory and reverence from all magical and mortal beings alike. _Legends_ are the epitome of all magical beings, possessing greatly enhanced abilities and traits. They are also embodied as cultural and religious beliefs among mortal beings and worshipped as such.”

Jack could see where this was going. “In other words, lots of perks, but too much work, right?”

Bunnymund balled his paws and shook his head in disapproval. “Unfortunately, most prefer to take shortcuts, hoping to bypass all the hard work us legitimate _Legends_ have ta go through, the imbecilic drongos. That witch is probable one of ‘em. Well, she has another thing comin’ if she thinks she can get away with it.”

Jack found it fascinating that the more worked up Bunnymund gets, the thicker his accent becomes. His mangling of the _Common_ language gets increasingly noticeable too.

“ _Ah, Bunny and scrawny boy!_ I see you finished talking, ya? Is good! Hohoho!”

Jack could see Bunnymund gnashing his teeth in annoyance again from the corner of his eye as he skidded to a stop in front of the machine. North was laughing heartily as his booming voice reverberated through the glass and into the hallway. Jack was beginning to see why Bunnymund could not handle someone like North, who marches to the beat – or symphony – of his own drum orchestra.

“I have a name, y’know. It’s Jack Frost.”

For the second time in the day, Jack received the same dumbstruck ogle from another _Legend_.

“Are we seriously debating the credibility of my name right now?” Jack sighed in frustration. “I’m pretty sure we have more important things to worry about, like er…oh, I don’t know, _getting out of here_?”

North paused, and then roared in amusement.

“I like this Jack guy! Is good with jokes!”

Jack chose to ignore that statement and observed the machine more closely after setting Bunnymund down. Bunnymund had busted it up quite thoroughly, yet the hunk of metal still pulsed with a steady hum as pumping noises filled the air. There had to be another power source if it could withstand Bunnymund’s onslaught of fisticuffs, albeit tiny ones.

An old fashion on-off switch. An energy pulse chamber. Maybe even a giant wheel powered by Bunnymund-look-alikes, coupled with a bunch of juicy carrots dangling just out of reach as motivational bait.

A thousand theories on what the strange contraption could be running on raced through Jack’s head, each one more ridiculous than the last. He glanced at Bunnymund, who looked just as confused as he was. A small scratch here, a bit of pawing there, in the hopes that he might chance upon an escape hatch for North.

“North?”

North, who had been humming a happy little jingle, fell silent abruptly and regarded Jack with twinkling blue eyes. Those eyes shone with such earnest attentiveness, Jack could not help but gazed at the other with a growing sense of calmness.   

“Did the witch mention anything about the operations of the machine she imprisoned you to? Like an on-off switch or a power source, or something?” he asked.

North’s answer surprised him. Bunnymund folded his paws across his chest as he listened.

“Power source, eh? Is got one, and it’s _me_!”

Jack blanked out for a moment. “What?” North took that as encouragement to continue and launched into an energetic spiel.

“Well, you see, not only am I excellent toy maker, I also create amazing tools, magical objects, and much wondrous machinery, among other brilliant inventions! Even own sleigh is automated carriage!” North gave a lively laugh as he proceeded to list several more “brilliant” and “amazing” inventions, none the likes which “Jack or Bunny had ever seen before”.

“So, after the witch imprisoned me in globe, she conjured up this machine and placed me inside to act as its power core. I don’t know how, but I think it siphons my mastery over machines to power it. So, get me out, machine stops. Interesting, ya?”

Jack’s mouth was now opening and closing like a goldfish that had been asked to explain the aquatic dynamics of dolphins. Bunnymund, on the other hand, looked as if he was deciding between turning purple and having ten different kinds of fits.

Jack considered himself a guy with strong intuitive sense. He had dabbled with simple mechanics during his travels, both for self-usage and extra money. Therein lies the keyword; they had been _simple_. It was not difficult to work a wrench and fasten wheels to a carriage, nor was it tough to figure out how to fix horse collars or fasten gears into clocks.

The machine North was imprisoned to, however, looked like the cheerfully sadistic grandmother of all things scientific and mechanical. The fact that Bunnymund had given it a good sound beating to “make it work” did not help.

Not to mention he had no idea what the witch might have done to the machine after she had spelled North into it. For all he knew, she might have cursed the device to sound an alarm upon North’s escape, or have any likely accomplices hexed with missing limbs or bulbous growths.

Then again, since Bunnymund managed to slip through the bars without much hassle or injury (sans his pride), Jack supposed the same could apply to North. In fact, now that he thought about it, security in here was seriously a _joke_. All this time locked in the dungeons, and neither of them had seen nor run into any semblance of a patrol. What was the witch thinking, that he was not able to figure a way out just because he was a human?

He had never bowed to challenges before, and he certainly was not about to start now.

“Well, let’s get you out of there, North,” Jack worked his way around and over the metal surface. He prodded and probed, tapped and poked and jabbed every suspicious nook and cranny of the machine. His fingers scrambled over various parts and he growled in frustration as it became apparent that there were no screwed-in hatches or nailed plates, much less the presence of a screw or nail.

He even gave the main panel a good, sound, roundhouse kick before slumping down against the smooth metal surface in exhaustion.

“Sorry, North, but I can’t find any off switch on this thing,” Jack panted, foot still stinging from the kick. Bad idea, that one. Especially with a _bare_ foot.

“Is okay. You’ve tried your best, Jack,” North replied in sympathy. Bunnymund, who had been observing Jack silently, hopped up to him and settled down beside him. He did not say a word, merely waited for Jack to catch his breath.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Frostbite. Didn’t think it had one in the first place,” Bunnymund tried offering a few words of understanding. “Guess we have to think up another plan.”

“Bunny’s right, Jack! We’re warriors at heart! Is difficult, but with right attitude you can do anything!” North’s optimism practically shone through his glass prison in tangible ribbons and multi-coloured sparkles. Jack felt as if he was swimming in tidal waves of all things bright and beautiful, complete with a matching background chorus. 

Jack gave a humourless chuckle and stood up, unconsciously placing a hand on the glass orb to steady himself. Midnight purple energy suddenly flared to life, dancing and twisting around Jack’s hand menacingly.   

Amid the amassing light energy, Jack stayed exactly where he was, his eyes glued to his hand as he tried to stay calm.

“Jack! Is not good! You must run!” North’s bellowed through the glass. His jolly look had been replaced with a ferocious look, his mouth opened as if he was unleashing a war cry. He also looked… _smaller_?

“Jack, back away _slowly_ , but don’t let go of the globe just yet,” Bunnymund cautioned evenly, crouched on all fours in alert vigilance, green eyes watchful for any hints of wayward energy jots.

Amidst the conflicting advice (and the mysterious sudden change in North’s expression), dark energy was charging up the air akin a lightning storm, wind and dust around them whirling wildly and threatening to overwhelm everything in the corridor. The purple colour from the energy rushes had mixed with the green twilight to form a sickly tar-like blanket. Jack stood rooted to his spot, his insides churning and tossing with growing trepidation. So bright were the flashes across the electrifying glass surface, they looked and felt like white-hot starbursts.

Great, he had only been electrocuted several hours ago. Now he had to go through that all over _again_?

 _Hi,_ Life _. This is Jack Frost._

 _The next time you throw lemons at me, I’ll like to see how_ you _feel when I return them_ ten-fold _at lightning speed._

_As rotten-lemon-flavoured ice cubes._

Jack’s eyes widened as the orb chose that moment to fling a lance of purple lightning through the air, lashing out in short angry bursts as it tore straight towards Jack. Jack threw his shepherd’s crook forward on instinct and hurled forth a blue sickle of ice energy. Both energy pulses collided to explode in an inferno of chaotic blue and purple fire, the resulting shock wave blasting throughout the entire hallway and knocking Jack clear off his feet.

He felt himself being thrown some distance back by the sheer force of the impact, and mentally braced himself for a painful collision with the stony surface.

It never came.

For an instant, he felt suspended, the awkward feeling of not being on solid ground sending all senses into overdrive. Then tiny paw pads suddenly made themselves known, supporting his back and right flank as he was gently lowered to the floor. Jack opened his eyes a tiny smidge, and found himself staring into concerned green eyes and a twitching nose.

“I gotcha, Frostbite,” Buunymund said as Jack sat up slowly, head still spinning from his ordeal. “She’ll be apples.”

Jack simply nodded, not trusting himself to reply Bunnymund, much less thank him for saving him from a concussion. Mostly because that would have required breath he did not have, and it was taking all of Jack to focus on getting his lungs to work. Jack wondered whether he had imagined the sounds his wheezing made, which was not unlike someone trying to strangle a pair of holey bellows.

“Yer took a pretty nasty hit to the chest when that energy ball exploded. Thrown off yer feet like a rag doll and all,” Bunnymund started as he helped Jack up as best as his tiny frame allowed. “I’ve never seen or felt anything that intense for a long time. That kooky boiler sure spelled in some serious mojo.”

“You’ll probably never see or feel anything that intense again, period. I’m staying far, far away from all things round and glass as of _now_ ,” Jack promised himself, still reeling from his airborne escapade. He should feel pleased that he was beginning to get some recognition as a magic user, despite being mortal. However, current circumstances called for a certain list of priorities, and Jack felt inclined to believe self-preservation topped the list.

 “Um…thanks, Bunnymund…for saving me. Guess we’re even, huh?” he laughed weakly as he leaned against his shepherd’s crook, using it as a crutch while he straightened up. He could feel his frost heal kicking in, the icy tingles spreading over various bruises, burns and cuts. Most of the cool and placid sensations were concentrated around his slightly singed hand, but overall Jack felt none the worse for wear.

There was no response from Bunnymund. Frowning, Jack gazed downwards to find him staring at North’s orb with the same amount of fascination as when they had first discovered him.

“Brilliant, I’ve just been sent floundering through the air with all the grace of a brick, and now you’re going all gooey-eyed and slack-jaw on me again? Talk about history repeating itself, Cottontail,” Jack commented with enough sarcasm that would have made children cry three blocks over.

“Oi, my name is Bunnymund, ya drongo!” Bunnymund turned around to glower crossly at a now smirking Jack before he pointed at the machine. “And before yer grizzle about yer bingle again, take a good look at North’s ball for a sec!”

Jack shrugged nonchalantly and limped over to give the glass orb a fleeting onceover; better to humour the rabbit before he busted a gasket. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, even North’s overjoyed hollering at Jack being relatively in one piece felt normal. His face was back to its usual happy state, which left Jack wondering whether he had imagined the whole raging North episode before he was blown out of his non-existent socks.    

A sudden familiar sparkle caught Jack’s eye, and a closer look revealed his very own frost ferns partially encasing North’s orb. Even in the nightmarish light, the crystalline sheen of his ice was unmistakable. The way the cool air coiled around him in affectionate tendrils, the way residual ice specks danced and twirled in an entrancing aerial waltz; he can recognise his magical signature anywhere.

Subtle, with a bit of showy finesse.

“Looks like my ice won the magic battle,” Jack grinned triumphantly. “Not so tough now, are you, witch?”

His ice twinkled mischievously, as if agreeing with him.

“Jack, that was _magnificent_! That battle of power and magic, is like nothing I’ve seen since the Fearling Wars! Brilliant!” North thundered exuberantly. “For a mortal to best a magical being’s enchantments like you have, unthinkable! Where did you learn to do that?”

Jack was starting to develop a permanent tick in his temples, the ever not-so-subtle topic of how mortals are seemingly more inferior to magical beings wearing his patience thin. Considering how Jack’s patience was the equivalent of a sugar-high bull let loose in a glass candy shop, it could be considered miraculous Jack had not snapped from the whirlwind of craziness he was somehow sucked into.  

A whiff of cinnamons and vanilla suddenly wafted through the air and brought Jack to immediate attention. Jack, starving for days now, had trouble keeping his saliva from pooling in his mouth as he shifted forward in a daze, trusting his nose to lead him to good times. Something wispy and red soon seeped into his vision, and Jack jerked back abruptly when he realised it was the smoke within North’s orb.

“Oi, North!” Bunnymund hissed from below, pressing his paws to his nose. “It’s bad enough to smell yer pong every time Christmas rolls around. Now we have ta get it as foul red smoke in a dungeon too?”

“Why, Bunny, Christmas is always holiday everybody looked forward to,” North protested, ready to defend his holiday’s good name. “Cinnamon and vanilla are great flavours for cookies and-,”

“ _Wait,_ we can _smell_ the red smoke,” Jack interjected, not keen on having to sit through another pointless hissy fit. He shifted his weight a little, now kneeling near the area where the smoke was thickest.

“Yeah, so?” Bunnymund scowled, shrinking further away from the smoke that was staring to billow into the pathway.

“So? This was _inside_ North’s prison, which happened to be completely enclosed. If smoke is leaking out from the inside,” Jack replied, quivering with excitement. If his theory was correct… 

“…the glass has a crack in it!” Bunnymund finished, wading through the columns of smoke encircling them towards the machine. “We can get North out an-”

Bunnymund faltered briefly, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Wait, how did that happen? Weren’t you almost burnt to a crisp when you touched that thing?”

Jack racked his brains for an answer to that. He remembered the pristine and even surface of North’s glass prison when they first met. Then there was that little tiff with Cottontail, followed by them looking over the machine and finding no means of escape. He had pressed his hand to North’s orb, and then that freak accident happened. If he had not listened to his instincts and put up a-!

“That’s it!” Jack exclaimed. “When my ice overpowered the lightning, some of it must have shot pass the energy explosion and slammed into North’s orb with enough force to break it! That has to be it!”

North was all over Jack’s deduction like an elf to hot chocolate. “Wonderful! Now all you need to do is to do that ice thing one more time and I’ll be out of here!” His face had morphed back into that belligerent look, and Jack could have sworn his eyes have taken on an intensely passionate look that would have melted a hole through the glass.

Given that North had also shrunk several inches from his already reduced stature, he might just be able to squeeze through said metaphorical hole.

Well.

So Jack had not imagined the whole thing during the heat of the magic debacle after all.  

“That’s ace and all,” Bunnymund’s voice broke Jack out of his stupor. “But are yer sure you want to give it a bash? Aren’t yer running on low?”

Bunnymund’s shot of cold water sobered Jack up instantly. He had completely forgotten about his still-recovering-now-turned-near-empty energy reserves. With all that has been going on, Jack was quite sure he had just about reached the single most _fatigued_ moment of his life so far.

He shot a half-curious glance at Bunnymund, the bluish-grey-hued rabbit regarding him with his head slightly tilted and a subdued look that clearly communicated his opinion on how Jack has been taxing himself for their sakes.

“Yer sure you can go through with another blast like that? The last time yer touched it, yer almost carked it. Who knows what might happen when your _magic_ touches it?”

Jack raised an eyebrow. Did Bunnymund just express his concern for him in a gruff and not very discreet way?

“Well, I for one am not willing to die in a godforsaken place like this,” Jack scoffed a tad wryly, not at all appreciating the helplessness this situation put him in, and entirely willing to do something about it. Something akin to Bunnymund’s stubbornness was rising within him, and he had no intention of quailing it.

“And I’m not about to let some crazy old bird best me just like that. I guess we just have to ‘wing it’, what say you?”

There was a stunned pause, before North erupted into a thundering boisterous cry.

“We’re with you, Jack!” North roared enthusiastically. “You can do it!”

Jack blinked at the unexpected cheer, but then could feel his lips stretch into an answering smile almost out of their own accord. He could also sense Bunnymund’s presence right beside him as he shifted his weight to support Jack’s slightly wobbly frame. Silent, but steadfast; Bunnymund’s way of saying he’s in it with them.

Jack’s smile broke into a grin.   

“So, one first and last magical spurt?”

Green eyes glinted.

“Like an egg hunt.”

And then a sonic boom blasted throughout the corridor as Jack called upon every single last ounce of energy remaining to lash forth streak after streaks of ice.   

Columns of dust particles exploded into the air from the sheer force of Jack’s ice in its rawest form tore into the glass orb, blazing like the sun. The noise of the sonic boom rolled behind Jack and Bunnymund like a cavalry, piles of strewn about straw flattening in its wake.

Purple lightning flared up in reaction to Jack’s magic, thrashing and hurling like sinister twisted limbs eager to rend anything within the vicinity to shreds. Several sparks shot pass the ice and honed in on Jack, who dodged them simply by shifting his weight in the direction Bunnymund tugged his trouser legs. Jack was immensely thankful for Bunnymund being his eyes, him needing his own eyes to observe any changes in his magic.

Amidst the chaos, Jack kept pushing himself further, calling upon all his being, all that he had, all he could _muster_. He could feel the ice shooting through his limbs like wildfire, lashed into a frenzy by adrenaline and madness, pulsing, yearning to explode outwards in its deadly blossom. His cries, his screams, and even the resulting sonic boom from the blasts were nearly drowned out by the screech of power.

In a last ditch effort to turn the tide to their advantage, Jack threw the very last of his magical _essence_ into his ice.

The glass orb promptly shattered, completely overwhelmed by the torrents of pure ice energy. The purple lightning guarding North’s prison withered away, sputtering out of existence in its utter defeat.   

The last Jack saw as he blacked out was a battle-ready North rising from gushes of cold air, somehow slightly _bigger_ with a pair of painted on swords drawn on him, raining debris of burning frozen pieces all around them, and a pair of alarmingly green eyes staring down at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voabulary:-
> 
> Common language: the equivalent of English as the working language in our world.
> 
>  
> 
> I like toying with Bunny's accent. I figure (aka my head canon) that Bunnymund's the kind of guy/rabbit whose accent gets thicker the more worked up he gets. At least, that's my impression of the movie, since most of the time he uses his Aussie slang is when he was speaking to or talking about someone/something that annoys him.
> 
> And yes, North's comical form is a wooden doll. More specifically, a matryoshka doll (nesting doll). So far, only his jolly and ferocious selves were revealed. There are definitely more sides of North along the way.
> 
> More shenanigans coming up!


	5. Escape (back) to the North Pole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is out for the count! It is now up to the mini Legends to figure a way out of the witch’s castle. That is, if Bunny doesn’t give into the urge to turn North into sawdust first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I use British English, so certain words will take on a different way of spelling. Like “color” vs. “colour”, “realize” vs. “realise”, and “practice” vs. “practise”. On a side note, I use “practice” when referring to the noun form. =P
> 
> What’s this? An update?! *gasp*
> 
> Along with an overdue apology to all for such a long wait. With exams, overseas course programmes and preparations for end-of-the-year comic conventions (I was a booth vendor…so…many…Pokemon, Hobbit and Sherlock…designs…), I barely had time to work on Witch’s Heist. 
> 
> Plus my computer crashed…along with this chapter. There had been a whole lot of screaming, banging, tears…and me going off to sulk. After that, there were lots of rewrites, trying to remember what scenes I wrote, what scenes I can omit, what new scenes I can think of…it had been chaotic. 
> 
> Now that most of that is settled, I hope you’ll enjoy the story again. Rest assured that I will finish this story. 
> 
> To all readers out there, thanks for reading Witch’s Heist! Have a Merry X’mas and a Happy New Year!

To say Bunnymund, one of the few most venerated magical beings, was annoyed would be wrong. As a master of the _Fighting Arts_ , he firmly believes maintaining a state of calm and discipline at all times is key to surpassing oneself. Never mind the urge to lose his top over recent developments is a tempting option, one should never let emotions cloud one’s mind.

Indeed, Bunnymund is a dignified and honourable warrior. He is the _Guardian of Hope and Life_ and the _Herald of Spring._ He is above petty and unbecoming things like tantrums, bickers and spite.

_Who am I kidding?_

“Hohoho, Bunny! What is up? Is almost at top of stairs! Don’t let all that chocolate you’ve been eating over the eons slow you down!”

The addressed greyish-blue rabbit only snarled viciously under his breath in response, infuriated beyond belief by the carefree, laughing wooden doll that is Nicholas St. North, aka Santa Claus. He forced his small body to work harder, pouring more energy into his legs to propel him further forward up the dungeon stairs.

“There you go, Bunny! Just a few more legs and you’re done!” North’s ever lively cheers were not doing wonders on Bunnymund’s already shortened fuse. He was satisfied to hear that even underneath all that energy, North’s breathing was still slightly laboured from his own climb.

“Shut it, North. Yer not the one draggin’ extra baggage up ‘ese stairs.” Bunnymund punctuated his point by hauling the unconscious body of one Jack Frost up a couple more steps with one strenuous heave before taking a much needed breather. His tiny paws were aching, his whiskers were rumpled and his fur was starting to mat with sweat.

In short, Bunnymund was downright _knackered_.

Bunnymund’s muscles screamed in protest as he prepared for another lug up the stairs. His legs nearly buckled underneath him as they were suddenly forced to work again, but he managed to catch himself in time.

“I know, Bunny. Is wrong, letting you do all the work, but…,” North turned sideways to show Bunnymund a distinctive lack of arms, sans the painted on ones.

“ _I_ know. That’s what makes this whole thing so-,” the rabbit turned around to fix an aggravated, but not heated glare at the comatose ice mage. “-frustrating.”

After Jack had been knocked out, Bunnymund’s first reaction was to rush over and catch him in mid-fall, although the combined momentum still sent both crashing down onto the floor. North, still weak from the magically explosive prison break, had eagerly limped over to help Bunnymund check on Jack, making sure he did not sustain any life-threatening injuries.

Or any undue magical after effects like grotesque growths, missing body parts, or smouldering wounds that come in a rainbow of colours.

Not that the miniature _Legends_ had much time to do so, because the next thing that happened was the wall behind the decimated machine caving in like a landslide amid a deadly bloom of fireworks.

The _Legends_ had been stunned at the spectacular sight before Bunnymund had the sense to grab Jack’s hood and pull him out of harm’s way. Around the trio, bits of burnt wood, mud and stone were raining to the floor, and the snowballing rubble had surged into the corridor like a stampede of feral charging bulls.

For the _Legends_ , the only point worth noting in the turbulence was the sudden reveal of a hidden stairway spiraling up and out of the dungeon.

Bunnymund had opted to carry Jack out of the dungeons on his back while North decided to scout (or was it plough?) ahead. Bunnymund had been careful, ears erect and alert for any signs of wayward pieces of debris as he dug a way through the mass of rubble and dirt. After establishing a relatively stable and compact makeshift trench, Bunnymund had tugged Jack hastily towards the stairway without much trouble.

That is, until he saw the actual stairway itself.

Blocks of ash-grey stone twisted around a towering pillar like a menacingly sinister snake. Each step was approximately his crouched height, and they meandered upward in an alarmingly steep incline.

Bunnymund gaped openly at the would-be monstrous climb. The rabbit knew he was likely to have to do most of the running, heavy-lifting and footwork because of his companions’ current states. Jack was out for the count, and North had only partially recovered; it was evident North was running purely on relief and adrenalin, fury and fierce joy at finally being _free_ , much like Bunnymund and Jack had, but they were still both pretty banged up and far from their best.

Especially Bunnymund, who had not eaten anything and gotten any rest. It is unlikely that North, being a doll, would need any sustenance to get him going.

Not that he really needed it when he already has a limitless amount of energy at his disposal.

A tiny voice at the back of his head questioned how North had managed to climb those set of stairs as a doll.

Still, climbing a mere flight of stairs should be more than enough for Bunnymund’s present strength and energy levels, right…?

“C’mon, Bunny! Show me what you’re made of!” North’s sudden bellow startled Bunnymund out of his reverie. He stumbled backwards momentarily, blubbering in astonishment, right before he managed to grab a hold on Jack, who had almost slipped from his grasp when Bunnymund leapt to his feet.

“Yer couldn’t give a bloke a fair warnin’?” Bunnymund growled grouchily as he steadied himself, shaking dust out of his fur. North flashed him a somewhat worried glance.

Or as worried as a wooden matryoshka doll with a ferocious war face could look.

“Bunny! Is not looking very good! You okay?”

The other _Legend_ raised an eye ridge, and then briefly stepped aside to look at a still unconscious Jack.

“You mean because of havin’ ta cart this show pony up ‘ese brick layers?” Bunnymund asked, before reaching out to haul Jack up another couple more steps. When he turned back to look at North, his emerald eyes burned with the wildfires of determination. “Well, I should say after that mad escapade Frostbite ‘ere is hardly in any shape to walk. Someone’s gotta look out for the kid.”

North paused, then erupted into a boisterous guffaw.

“Looks like you still got your ol’ stubbornness in you! Is good!” The laugh was loud, it was booming, and it was one that somehow always manages to rile Bunnymund up effortlessly. The temptation to wipe the proverbial grin off North’s painted on face was very appealing as well. For one moment, Bunnymund wondered whether the witch – wherever she was – or any other possible minions and lackeys might have heard them. Now that they are on higher grounds, any sound they make might echo heavily throughout the entire particularly barren castle and attract unwanted attention.

Then again, the castle should have already been in a frantic uproar when Jack had first engaged in that magical battle against North’s globe prison. With all the commotion they were making, it was a wonder the castle was still unnervingly quiet and standing.

_Seriously, where is that festered ol’ pickle in all this?_

Bunnymund paused, then shook his head. The _last_ thing he needed was to waste what little precious time they have by giving in to unnecessary gripes and pointless speculations.

He slowly counted to ten, straightened himself, and took a few seconds to loosen tired muscles and regain some sense of composure.

At least North was a decent lookout. Despite his wild behavior, North is first and foremost a _Legend_ ; he is fully aware of his responsibilities as one and takes them seriously (when need be). Perched at the top of the stairs, North had positioned himself in a way that allowed him optimal monitoring of his surroundings, as well as Bunnymund and Jack’s progress up the stairs. Even if he did notice, he made no comment on Bunnymund’s strange behaviour; he simply stood, steadfast as the proud warrior he is.

Besides, they were almost at the top; just five more steps and he will on solid flat ground once more. Bunnymund gave a resolved grunt, flexing mud-caked paws and brushing a bit of dirt off his shoulder as if in passing. He steeled himself, took a deep breath, reaffirmed his hold on Jack and began to bulldoze his way up the last few steps.

Muscles in searing hot pain, fur damp and musky, ears drooping and body coated with layers of sweat and muck. His lungs felt as if several consecutive mini-supernovas had gone off in them. The fleeting onslaught of sensations had Bunnymund reeling for a bit before he huffed it all off and pressed on.

Just when he thought he would pass out from the blinding agony, he felt his feet slam painfully onto a smooth and polished surface. With sheer grit, he took a few more steps before collapsing completely onto the floor, fully embracing the delicious feel of sore muscles being soothed by the refreshingly cool surface.

Not even the deadweight draped awkwardly across his back could put a damper on his moment of utter bliss, punctuated only by his own haggard breathing and racing heartbeat. North had wisely kept his thoughts to himself, understanding that the fatigued rabbit needed time to catch his breath.

Since Bunnymund was in no condition to do anything any time soon, North decided to inspect their new surroundings more thoroughly.

The first thing he noticed was the total absence of the same sickly green glow of the dungeons. In fact, despite the questionable décor, it actually looked lived-in.

It even felt… _warm and toasty_.

A very much welcomed change of scene for the once imprisoned North.

It appeared they had stumbled into a room that looked a _lot_ richer than the rest of the castle. It has walls that stretched up to a high ceiling decorated with somewhat disturbing designs carved into the moulding. The room was dominated by a tall and broad vanity, the embellishments and fine carvings resembling the tacky accessories worn by the witch. A roaring fireplace stood next to the vanity, in front of which lay a surprising lush, red circular carpet. Narrow barred windows dotted the stone walls sporadically. North took a quick glance at the windows. Outside there was a blue sky tinted with pink and greys.

Just after daybreak.

The second eye-catcher in the room was an elaborate writing desk littered with scrolls, books and shady-looking bottles. Another flight of stairs spiraling up to a closed-off level, a round end table in the corner, and a huge chest of drawers at the far end of the room completed the furniture in North’s view, but as it turned out, North was more interested in the item that lay right in the middle of the writing desk.

A giant jewel-encrusted book with unusually frayed cover edges.

If there ever had been a book that _defined_ suspicious, that was it.

North hopped enthusiastically over to the desk. He leapt up to the comfortable seat, bounced off the cushions and landed on the book in an impressive display of acrobatics not meant for a doll of his make.

A closer look revealed that the book was not only older and more worn than other books on the table shelves, but bounded as well. There was no visible keyhole or lock, nor were the bindings ordinary. North eyed the golden spider at the top right corner of the book, its long legs tightly wedged around the edges. Its abdomen was missing, most likely a gemstone judging by the shape of the relief. Golden threads dotted with smaller insects in similar states – missing abdomens in a variety of shapes and sizes – unfurled from the spider’s rear and spread across the rest of the cover in the shape of a web.

Overall, a very peculiar book with very bizarre trusses and trappings.

It also meant that whatever was written in the book, the witch certainly made sure they stayed hidden from everyone and everything else but her.

That is not to say North was defeated by some gaudy book bindings. If anything, North, ever astute and perceptive (comes naturally as the world’s best toymaker and inventor, of course), had already figured out the significance of the spider and insects after a brisk onceover.    

The only way to open the book is to find the missing jewels and insert them into their respective abdomen slots.

Great! Now all he needed to do was to find them among the mountainous piles of scrolls, books and parchment scattered across the desk surface.

With the right attitude, anything can be accomplished!

 

* * *

 

Bunnymund stirred from a hazy lull when he felt something hit him on the head. It was not painful, but it was hard enough to wake him from his stupor. A couple of sharper blows had the rabbit scrambling, albeit groggily, to make sense of his current whereabouts.

He shot to his feet, fully lucid, when he felt the beginnings of an unrelenting hail of stationery and scrolls. He made it out from under Jack’s still torpid body just in time to dodge several sharp and pointy quills, one of which came close to shaving off his whiskers.

“Oi, what the bollocks-?!” Bunnymund took a hurried sweep of his surroundings before he immediately zeroed in on the culprit behind the dangerously close calls.

“North, ye bloody galah! Are ye trying to do me i- _watch it_!” Bunnymund rushed to pull Jack out of the way of an incoming book the size of a buckle shield.

The weight of one too, if the resounding tremors when it struck the floor were any indication.

“Ah, Bunny! Glad to see you’re awake! Is good, hohoho!” North’s ringing chortle had Bunnymund gnashing his teeth almost immediately as he directed a scorching glower at the wooden doll, who was rummaging through a box of papers on a top shelf.

He tugged Jack towards the carpet and placed him in a more comfortable-looking position in front of the fireplace. After a final checkup on Jack, he made his way slowly over to North. He was still sore from the trek up the stairs, but there are priorities to set straight.

“Yer don’t seem to be initiated in the rules of unintended projectiles much, are yer?” Bunnymund admonished as another piece of stationery – a metal ink pot – flew past him. North was fortunately unaware of his claws digging ever so slightly into the floor as Bunnymund took larger strides towards the writing desk.

“I’m sorry for the rude awakening Bunny,” North apologised cheerfully. “I didn’t mean for those things to land on you. Good thing you were quick on your feet, eh?” Bunnymund was hard-pressed not to move his feet faster – either back towards the stairs into the “safety” of the dungeons or into North’s face, that is.

It became apparent that North was not going to explain himself anytime soon as he dove into a neighbouring box of scrolls. Even after years of knowing him, Bunnymund had never really been able to figure the other _Legend_ out. That was why he probably found him so… impossibly fascinating in the first place. What the ex-toymaker was thinking now, digging around box after box, throwing out things occasionally, gazing at the odd knickknack somewhat questioningly, Bunnymund had no idea.

Still, as much as Bunnymund would like to consider North’s present activities worthy of a looney bin, the other _Legend_ was never one to do things without good reason.

“Umm…what are you doing?” he finally asked, not knowing what else to say.

“Hold on, Bunny! I think I got something!” North’s answer was to continue with his search among increasingly rumpled and torn pieces of paper. He fished out a small ornate box with an exclamation of triumph and tossed it to Bunnymund, who staggered back in surprise before reaching out reflexively to catch it.

“Great, Bunny! You’ve got box! Good catch!”  

Buunymund, still somewhat flabbergasted, could only look at the elegant little box he now cradled in his paws before he stared at North.

“Box?” he echoed, looking at the other _Legend_ in vexed confusion. “What’s all this, North?”

“Ah, I must explain, my friend,” North promptly hopped over to Bunnymund’s side. Bunnymund was suddenly struck with the realisation that North, now that he was wearing his battle-ready look, all swords drawn and armed to the teeth, seemed so much larger and… _imposing_.

“You see that big suspicious-looking book in the middle of that writing desk?” He nudged his head in the direction of said book. The slightly tattered edge that poked out from among the throng of writing materials seemed to gleam mysteriously, as if in response to North’s comment. Even from Bunnymund’s vantage point, he could tell something was not _quite_ right about it.

“You feel it too, eh?” North’s tone became serious. “The residual magic seeping from it? Dark and…foreboding. Almost overwhelms everything else in this room.”

Bunnymund scowled at the book edge, the ominous tingling sensation characteristic of dark magic sending shivers down his spine. The magical lashes he had sustained from his imprisonment stung slightly, the unpleasant memory surfacing like a poisonous miasma.

This place was _twisted_. Forcing himself not to think about the rather humiliating recollection, he instead refocused on the subject at hand. “What about it?”

North did a vague nudging gesture with his head, indicating he wanted Bunnymund to follow him. After climbing up the table and having his first glimpse at the relic of interest, Bunnymund’s head suddenly went very blank.

Contrary to popular belief among magical beings, the Pooka warrior has always been an avid reader. He loved stimulating his mind just as much as he loved working out, strongly believing that the mind and body should work in harmony to support a healthy soul. Having collected and read an impressive array of books from his annual trips to the surface world, Bunnymund is extremely well-versed in an extensive variety of subject matters. Over the years, he had amassed a library room grand enough to put any museum to shame.

But even he, book collector extraordinaire, had never seen a bounded book with such a _ridiculous_ lock-and-key system.

“So you see, is a strangely complicated book.” North reaffirmed. “That’s where little box come in!”

Emerald eyes blinked again.

He had completely forgotten about the box North lobbed at him, so hideously outrageous was the book design.

The box was, unlike the book, locked with a simple padlock. Magical energy similar to the book was also radiating – vibrating even – in tangible ribbons from within. Bunnymund could see where this was going.

_That ol’ kook is a might careless ‘un, ain’t she?_

He made quick work of the padlock with his claws and poured the contents gingerly onto the table. This is still, after all, a witch’s possessions; no telling what kind of hexes, curses or any combination of either could be spelled into them.

Out tumbled from the box brightly coloured gemstones that shimmered eerily in the light. Among them sat the largest ruby Bunnymund had ever seen. The swirling reds of the gem felt as if Bunnymund was staring at a particularly shiny glass cauldron of fresh blood.

“Excellent, Bunny! Ruby probably go to spider, and the rest to little insects! Now we can finally find out what’s hidden in these pages!”

“Wait, North. I’m not su-,” North was already prodding the gems into their respective sockets, nudging and shoving them into place with zesty exuberance, sometimes stomping them into place for good measure. Bunnymund flattened his ears and sighed deeply, once again ignored by North’s endeavours to charge headlong into something without taking dark magic precautionary measures.

The only thing he could do now is to watch North play Whac-A-Bug with the book. Trying to get through to North on a mission was like trying to talk sense into a sledgehammer hell bent on making _and_ eating dust.

As the large ruby clicked into place in the golden spider’s abdomen, flashes of white light flowed out from the spider’s rear and through each spider thread in pulses. One powerful pulse streamed through one of the insects – a fly with a sapphire abdomen – before moving onto another insect. Bunnymund’s emerald eyes widened just a bit when the sapphire suddenly shone with dazzling incandescence before the flies’ wings started _flapping_. A tiny, strangely pleasing-to-the-ear chime rang lightly in place of the buzzing noise typical of insect wings.

Before Bunnymund knew it, more insects followed suit, and soon there was a symphony of tinkling chimes filling the room. There as another flash of white light, this time more glaring than bedazzling, and the light pulses and symphony of chimes stopped just as suddenly as they had started.

A delicate glint ghosted over the spider’s ruby abdomen. There was a hiss, followed by the spider flexing its legs and proceeded to extricate them one-by-one from around the book edges. It was hypnotising yet terribly dramatic, like skeletal fingers slowly unclenching themselves from a death grip.  

The miniature _Legends_ made a beeline for the book the moment it popped open. Now, the moment of truth is at hand.

The first object Bunnymund noticed was a small portrait of the witch acting as a bookmark. Draped in a poofy black gown and garish finery, a veil summer hat adorning her greasy locks and makeup worthy of a court jester, the artist obviously did not even attempt to flatter her at all.

Setting the portrait aside and turning it upside down (to spare the torture on his eyes), he began reading the first page.

“ _Dear Diary, the-”_   

-wait. _WHAT?_

 

* * *

 There was a very uncomfortable silence.

Maybe it had been that time when the Groundhog had set him up and he had ended up stuck in one of Nancy Loch’s caverns for a whole day before Kozmotis Pitchiner of all people had to save him. No, that had actually been bearable.

The time when he had tripped over the Jackalope and crashed into a cactus facefirst during an Easter run? Close, but no.

Or maybe that time when he had somehow gotten himself encased in a coffin of amber while trying to gather some for further colour experimentations and the other _Legends_ had to save him – while in hysterics of various degrees? No, not quite.

 _Or maybe, just_ MAYBE _it’s right_ now _, when a fellow_ Legend _and I are trying to learn about other possible escape routes or schemes from what seemed like a spellbook, only to learn that it was that fruit basket’s_ diary _all along!_

Right now, Bunnymund was quite sure he had just about reached the most embarrassing moment of his entire life so far. He also did not need to be a genius to know that North, in spite of his “poker face”, was languishing from a quiet meltdown.

 _This is secrecy I do_ NOT _need to know._

Which meant it had to be morbid curiosity that made Bunnymund glanced back apprehensively at the first page.

_“Dear Diary, the fulfilment of my dream is coming! The treatments in Madam Beau Dacious’ beauty salon are incredible and miraculous! I can feel myself become more charming already!”_

Bunnymund had to stop right there to hang his head briefly. No words can even _begin_ to describe the utter mortification he had landed himself in. Stumbling upon the batty sheila’s diary was bad enough, but reading about her war paint remedies was a whole new level of shame.

_“Any magical being or mortal will eagerly worship such a beauty!”_

That one sentence instantly banished all thoughts of seppuku rituals from Bunnymund’s mind.

 _“I have made an initiation present for myself – a magical vanity mirror. With its help, I shall choose the_ Legend _who’ll bestow upon yours truly with unimaginable powers!”_

Bunnymund made a grab for the still shell-shock North before practically shoving their faces into the next entry.

 _“I’m outraged! Nicholas St. North, the_ Guardian of Wonder _, dared to refuse my demands!”_

For the first time Bunnymund noticed clear signs of scrubbing, denoting the obvious remnants of a positively livid scribbling out. A massive amount of text, too, ghosted almost to nothingness. The knap of the parchment of the new entry was damaged, the threads exposed, but it was still legible. The next paragraph was marked by angry scratch marks and tears, mostly like by a fuming quill on parchment. Bunnymund winced, practically almost hearing a high-pitched and nasal voice filling his ears with shrill laughter like nails on a chalkboard.

 _“I will not accept refusal! Nicholas St. North will do as I say! My plan is brilliant! I will turn the_ Legend _into one of those toys he loves so much! I might return him to his original form only when he agrees to make me a_ Legend _!”_

The following page revealed yet another portrait, this time showing off North’s original Santa Claus form. An immense, rotund man with clear blue eyes and long silvery-white beard dressed in red and black. The apple-cheeked _Legend_ in the portrait wore a warm and inviting grin, the words “naughty” and “nice” tattooed on each forearm, which were crossed in front of his chest, respectively.

 _“I have cast a curse on Nicholas St. North and bind it to his home – the North Pole. Everything alive is cursed there, and it cannot be broken that easily. It’s so perfect! With Christmas at stake, that blasted_ Legend _will have no choice but to meet my demands! I shall pull out this triumph card on Christmas Eve and watch him crumble like those disgustingly fattening cookies he loved so much._

 _In the meantime, I need to find another_ Legend _with my magic mirror’s help. I should have-”_

Bunnymund stopped short instantly. He chanced a wary peek at North and was met with a very quiet doll.

Most people who knew him would probably agree that Nicholas St. North can be a chatterbox, rather hot-headed, and sometimes just a tad bit too quick to jump into action.

However, there were also those who knew him better – like Bunnymund, and _they_ would tell you that it was only when North was silent was he _truly_ angry.

Like the holiday he embodies, the _Legend_ values his friends, comrades and family above all else and would defend them fiercely until the end. To mess with them is akin to signing a death warrant.

To mess with them _through him_ meant a fate worse than purgatory.

North could hear his own breath rasping in his throat. Thoughts of what might have happened to his homeland whirled through North’s mind, each one more horrifying than the last. Blue irises glared steadily at the diary entry even though its owner had a hard time stopping his body from trembling in absolute fury.

Something like a growl issued from the doll at that point before he turned around and stomped resolutely towards the vanity, only distantly aware of the soft pit-a-pat of Bunnymund’s paw pads behind him.

He needed to get back to the North Pole. _Now_.

After climbing up the drawer shelves and treading through a mess of makeup and ointment – while narrowly missing a couple of empty photo frames –, he planted himself firmly in front of the mirror. A swirling vortex of colours and glitter met his gaze, the occasional pulses of coloured light shimmering happily behind glass in contrast to his austere demeanour.

North took a deep breath. “Magic mirror! Show me North Pole!” North had always preferred the direct approach. It makes things less complicated.

There was no response from the mirror. If anything, the whirlpool of colours and light seemed to be twinkling mockingly at North.

“Magic _vanity_ mirror! Show me North Pole!” North tried again. Maybe it has to be a specific mirror type. Nothing.

“Magic vanity mirror! Be nice and show North Pole!”

Again, nothing.

North sighed inwardly. _This is going to take a while_.

 

* * *

 Several fruitless attempts later, North was starting to curse his Cossack ancestry three generations back in a language that made him wonder whether he should have been a Cossack sailor instead of a bandit.

“Um, North?” Bunnymund’s voice piped up from behind North.

“Not now, Bunnymund,” North replied in exhaustion. Trying to get back to North Pole through the only obvious means of escape had been downright wearisome. The witch had kidnapped him through that mirror, so it served to reason that he should be able to return home through it as well. Unfortunately, no verbal command seemed to even earn a peep out of the mirror. Not even a good kick at the mirror surface. Maybe it’s the length of time spent locked up in the dungeons that was getting to him, but the _Guardian of Wonder_ just really, _really_ wished to be back home to check up on his friends and family. “I need to get home now. Am worried about yetis and elves!”

“Maybe that’s because yer hadn’t tried this,” Bunnymund said, slotting the portrait of North into one of the photo frames North had nearly knocked over.

Instantly, the clouds of colour and sparkles began to warp towards the center, the once cheerful hues twisted into a maelstrom of churning shades and hues. There was a sudden brilliant flash of light, and the violent quagmire dispersed almost instantaneously to reveal the one image North had tried so hard to see.

Ice. Layers upon layers of white and blue glistened amidst a starry sky painted in brilliant shades of dark purple. Among it all, sat the glorious piece of architecture that is his home – Santoff Claussen. Even with the billowing winds that howled across the tundra, blowing up chunks of ice that nearly obscured his view, the wondrous warmth of lights shining forth from the building was more than enough to comfort North and soothed his soul.

“Yer owe me, North. Since yer chanting up a storm ain’t getting us anywhere, I had the displeasure of trying to find some answers from that bag o’ warts’ diary,” Bunnymund commented, eyes inadvertently trailing to the diary, now flipped a few pages over.

“Apparently, like yer magic snow globes and my rabbit holes, ‘em portraits also act as a portal conduct. I’m not sure how, but I think the same theories apply. Not that I can find out more,”Bunnymund scowled furtively, folding his paws across his chest. “Not with _those_ in the way.”

It was then that North became swiftly aware of the magic seals decorating the next page, effectively binding the rest of the book like bonds of iron. Judging by the sizzling seals and Bunnymund’s slightly singed paws, the book had also made its view about invading one’s privacy very clear.

“Yours and that mongrel charlatan’s portraits are the only ‘uns I could find, and since neither of us have any bizzo with ‘er, we better get back to yer place to rest and regroup,” Bunnymund stated matter as of fact. “Maybe try to see if anyone in Santoff Claussen survived the curse and contact the other _Legends_ , see if they know anything.”

North was quiet for a while, listening attentively and absorbing Bunnymund’s suggestions like a sponge. It was not long before he let out a massive laugh and thumped Bunnymund so hard on the back Bunnymund _swore_ he heard his spine snap.

“Bunny, you are good friend!” North shouted in earnest, directing thankful and relief-filled baby blues at an annoyed Bunnymund. Another thump on the back sent a startled Bunnymund flying into the chest of one still very unconscious Jack Frost.

“When we go back to Santoff Claussen, I treat you to double-tiered carrot cake and carrot eggnog after we take care of Jack! Now let’s go!” North turned tail and vaulted through the mirror surface without hesitation, the prospect of finally going home filling him with pure excitement. The area where North had burst through wobbled for a bit, the effects of the passing rippled throughout the mirror for a bit before settling once more into its previous serene state.

Bunnymund harrumphed in indignation before he scurried underneath Jack and proceeded to drag him towards the vanity. After maneuvering him up the drawers, he pushed Jack unceremoniously through the mirror before stepping into the portal and disappeared in a rush of colours and radiance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it.
> 
> The trio finally made it out of the witch's domain...and into another boiling pot of trouble.
> 
> What could be waiting for them at Santoff Claussen? What has happened to the yetis and elves? Would Jack wake up in time to participate in this sitcom? All - well, most - will be revealed in the next chapter! 
> 
> I have to admit, the diary thing was something that came to me after the first version of this chapter got deleted. The initial one had serious spells and curses and all that stuff in detail.
> 
> So...that a good thing or a bad thing? =_=;


	6. Tough Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> North made a shocking discovery, Bunnymund got stuck babysitting Jack, and Jack had to make a very difficult decision. As if his life isn't complicated enough already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I use British English, so certain words will take on a different way of spelling. Like “color” vs. “colour”, “realize” vs. “realise”, and “practice” vs. “practise”. On a side note, I use “practice” when referring to the noun form. =P
> 
> On top of my computer crashing now and then, I actually had some difficulty writing this chapter. Mainly because I have to find ways to empathise with Jack's position and express them in words, and somehow they don't really come fluidly. My psychology textbooks don't really help either, so I spent a lot of time freaking people out by talking aloud and retyping paragraphs. I must have went through 4-5 rewrites before I'm satisfied with this chapter.
> 
> Either way, this chapter focuses on the serious side of things as Jack had to make some hard choices. I won't spoil it for you, buuuut there's a surprise at the end as thanks for sticking around with WH. 8D Enjoy reading!

Jack blinked. He had woken up in a room that was too dark and unfamiliar, and he had no idea where he was.  The last thing he could remember was that he had engaged in a titanic battle of raw magic with North’s prison security. Somehow, there was suddenly no trace of Cottontail or North.

Instead, the darkness around him was starting to solidify into recognisable shapes as he became more lucid, and he started to see…horribly familiar stone walls with rings and chains embedded in them. A twist to get a feel of his arms had him realizing sharply that he was chained onto the cold, hard floor.

Jack could feel sheer abject terror shoot through him like a lightning bolt. He tried to roll around and jerk out of his bonds, but almost instantly could feel the cruel bite of manacles around his ankles and wrists, keeping him rooted to the spot. Jack wanted to scream, to shout at the universe how all of this was even possible, why all of this was happening to _him_ , when the sickeningly sweet purr of a voice came from the darkness that let the words die in his throat.  

“My, my, if it isn’t the miserable little trespasser. After that failed prison break I thought you might be back in your proper place before long…”

Smiling, the witch melted out of the shadows like the ghost of a nightmare.

For a moment, Jack was too paralyzed to do anything. He could only stare back as the witch’s pitch-laced sneer grew even wider, the other leaning over him.

“So, have you learnt how to behave yet, I wonder…?” the witch asked and as she spoke, more shadowy figures emerged from the darkness, all of them wearing similar looks of spite, laughing and cooing maliciously at Jack. He could feel all at once sinister stares raking over his body like an offering laid out for slaughter. Murmurs of “freak”, “heretic” and “demon” swept through the figures, echoing around the enclosed area like whispers of a building wildfire.

Desperately, Jack tried to squeeze his eyes shut, to twist away from the increasingly merciless remarks and unforgiving stares, to cry, _anything_. Then the witch drew out _his_ shepherd’s crook – the ends fashioned into deadly spiked ice tips –, climbed atop of him, raised her arms and held the shepherd’s crook like an executor would an axe, _and_ –

 

* * *

 Jack shot up with a shuddering gasp and a strangled scream, sitting at once bolt-upright on a…bed?

Blue eyes wide and heart racing, it took him a few moments before he even realised where he was.

_I…I’m in…a bedroom?_

A grand and massive bedroom that could fit Jack’s old hut five times over, at that.  It most certainly was not the bleak and miserable dungeon he was thrown into. Apparently the prison break had been successful, and somewhere along the lines after blacking out he was rescued by the mini _Legends_.

Jack was suddenly struck by the feeling that he was in a room of glass. His fingers hovered lightly over the immaculate bed sheets as his eyes traveled cautiously around the room.

A roaring fireplace kept the room warm and cozy, a pleasant and hearty glow casted over the furniture like a snug blanket. High arched windows surrounded the room, making it feel larger than it already was. The feather-light snowflakes and the light frost drifting across the window brought some comfort to Jack; the one constant he had come to rely on in his whirlwind of a soap opera life.  

The ornate king-sized bed that Jack laid in was decorated with intricate carvings that ran along the woodwork, the nooks and crannies enhanced by masterfully crafted golden brown trimmings. Jack’s breath hitched when he became acutely aware that he was surrounded with the softest down bedding and pillows he had ever felt. He was fairly sure that even if he managed to negotiate a foothold on the mattress, he would still fall nose-first into it and be buried under several feet of feather down.

An enormous wool rug poked out from underneath the bed and covered a wide expanse of the floor. Jack suddenly realised the room had floor-to-floor carpeting that looked so comfortable he was sure he will be knee-deep in carpeting the moment he got out of bed. Shelves upon shelves lined with toys and trinkets of every make and design pressed close to the walls, along with several tasteful paintings depicting far-off lands that seemed to belong to a bedtime storybook. A couple of ornamental cupboards and drawers littered with quills, ink pots, scrolls and parchment in a messy, yet strangely organised heap, stood neatly next to the bed.  Bright lamps dotted the room at strategic points – one right next to the bed, in fact – for optimal glow without overwhelming the surroundings.

A large armchair and ottoman that sat by the fireplace for reading pleasure, an end table holding a plate of cookies and a glass of milk, his shepherd’s crook propped up against another end table nearer to the bed, and a nearby shelf of books completed the look of opulent comfort.

Jack was feeling less like a guest who had overstayed his welcome and more like a street urchin – _still_ smelling like wet dog, he noticed – about to be tossed into a factory for soiling some very expensive-looking sheets.

A soft snore broke Jack out of his thoughts. He quickly glanced to his side and his gaze fell on the familiar bluish-grey furry lump of one E. Aster Bunnymund, the miniature _Legend_ peacefully sleeping next to him. He was curled up in an odd position, as if he had been watching over Jack for long periods of time and his body had just given in to exhaustion. Unlikely as it seemed, Jack could see no other explanation for Bunnymund’s cramp-inducing sleeping posture.

It made Jack feel… safe. Bunnymund is a point of familiarity amidst the rush of new environments.

_Weird “safe”, but a good kind of weird “safe”._

Then it hit Jack all at once.

 _I haven’t felt this…safe…since I became_ …this.

That realisation had Jack suddenly feeling very fatigued. The ice mage let himself collapsed with a drained sigh, lying back on the bed with a soft _whomph_. The blanket settling over his body again, he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, trying to stifle a groan.

_What a nightmare._

Jack turned his head to the side facing away from Bunnymund, staring at nothing resentfully. It was not _fair_. All he wanted was to live his life peacefully, as best as he could with his ice magic. Not…

_…not to be imprisoned and humiliated in my sleep. Yeah, that would be nice for starters._

Frustrated, he blew a huff of air through his nose. Jack was no stranger to nightmares, that much was true. He had his fair share when he just started his journeys, many a night spent atop a tree with only a stick for comfort and safety adding to his insecurities and loneliness.

Jack gave a humourless snort, privately thinking that anyone who had survived everything he had been through _and_ did not have nightmares occasionally would probably be the freak. There were a few recurring favourites, of course – his sister falling through the ice, his family the subject of ridicule and ultimately driven out of the village, his ice magic gone astray and freezing everything in sight, he himself falling victim to particularly nasty out-of-control ice magic, and of course, the up-and-coming crowd pleaser of his magical duel with beings from another world in claustrophobic settings, and him being overwhelmed by the violent clashes.

Jack closed his eyes briefly. He was _not_ going to go there; he was healthy, he was fine, and for the time being, he was _safe_.

Jack scowled at his blanket, feeling the heat of humiliation shoot into his cheeks again at the recollection and the fact that it continued to have some influence over him. It had been the first time he had ever found himself dealing with _that_ kind of threat, where he could have been killed over something he had little control over.

Just the threat and not the result, at least. No death has come to pass yet. That was something.

By now, his heart rate had slowed down again to normal levels. Jack sat up again, the blanket sliding down into his lap. There was sunshine streaming in through the gaps in the windows and there were noises, which indicated that at least his nightmare had had the decency to scare him awake at a time when normal people woke up.

_Well, as normal as you can get with the Jack Frost package._

Jack sighed and flexed his hands. They felt a little sore and swollen, but otherwise were still attached to his person. He did notice the addition of a few burnt marks and tiny scars on his palms, the results of the magic battle. Some body twists here and there revealed similar aches across his body, and thankfully nothing broken. At least the prison break had only resulted in slightly singed hands, shallow cuts and scrapes instead of any permanent damage.

Ah, well. It had probably been overly naïve to expect to escape a place like that with everything entirely intact.

Furry bluish-grey ears perked up from their relaxed state and swiveled to hear clattering some distance outside the room. A hind leg twitched in response to some commotion upstairs, followed by a wet pink nose sniffing the air sleepily, and Jack found himself smiling at the ridiculously adorable scene. He could feel himself relax some more, sunshine and gentle breezes outside replacing the fading images of his dream.

Jack’s gaze fell once again on the sleeping Bunnymund on the bed edge, the rabbit _Legend_ draped over it as boneless as a cat lounging by a fireplace…

…and he was someone he could truly begin to _trust_. Jack’s smile grew.

Nightmares, like scars, would fade with time. Careful not to wake the still slumbering rabbit, the ice mage set his feet gingerly on the floor and rose, stretching himself with a grin. North was likely taking care of things somewhere else in this place. A new day has come, he was safe, he was with people he knew, and he was ready to tackle the world head on!

 

* * *

 

“Oh…no…”

North tried to still his wooden body, which was probably trembling as badly as his voice. Even if he had spoken quietly, the still, soulless stares of the petrified figures that littered throughout the globe room seemed to zero in on him. After dressing Jack’s wounds and tucking him in one of the guest suites with Bunnymund’s help, Bunnymund had volunteered to keep an eye on Jack. North had then travelled – or hopped as quickly as he could – all over his work shop in an attempt to find someone who had escaped the witch’s curse.

There were none. Everything was as still as death. 

“Phil…Dingle…Sergei…”

Said statues of the addressed remained frozen, locked in positions that suggested their prior activities before they were cursed. The grins that were on their features, the same mischievous grins of the elves and the long suffering, yet somewhat amused smiles of the yetis that North had seen them wear so many times looked like mocking mirrors of their current states.

North drew a breath, his throat unnaturally hoarse, before collapsing onto the floor in soul-wrenching anguish.

 

* * *

 In much more peaceful surroundings, Jack looked to his side at Bunnymund, the rabbit apparently still conked out. He raised an eyebrow.

It was actually the first time Jack had seen the quadrupled sleep, and, contrary to when he had been worried about Bunnymund’s health back in the dungeons, this time it actually brought a smile to his face. He looked at peace for once, his normally fierce demeanour replaced by boneless relaxation, the rabbit sleeping on the bed with his head tilted sideways, body awkwardly hunched over, arms and legs both spread eagle and dangling somewhat off the bed edge.

Talk about deep sleep.

Jack looked at the display for a moment, head cocked a little, and then grinned. Next, he was already lithely, noiselessly, making his way over to the rabbit, resting both of his hands on the bed and beginning to lean in.

“Hey, Cottontail…morning, you lil’ bunny-cuddly-wuggly…,” Jack spoke in a low voice, grinning as the ears perked up again, the other’s muzzle twitching at the noise and at the movement. Jack was also slightly wary of his position, completely aware that a half-awake Bunnymund could potentially overreact and attack out of habit, but he was also confident he would be able to dodge that.

Besides, that possibility made the whole thing more fun.

“Hey, two feet tall, dark and fluffy. Rise and shine.” Jack reached out and nudged the rabbit cautiously.  At this, the rabbit finally started to blink his eyes open sleepily.

“Huh…?”

Encouraged by the hilarious reaction, Jack gave Bunnymund a brief but playful scratch under his chin that apparently, let the rabbit snap awake completely.  Delirious for a moment, Bunnymund clutched his head to gather his bearings, before putting two and two together and stilled. When he looked back up at Jack, his glare had a darker edge to it that threatened to do things to Jack, who could feel himself sweating bullets. Dry and chapped lips pulled back from his own teeth as he gave an aloof grin in response, a hand coming to rest on a hip.

 _Hell_ will freeze over – and he will gladly admit to the deed – before he lets a two feet tall rabbit unnerve him.

“Glad to see yer well enough to delight at my expense, Frostbite,” the rabbit gave Jack a disapproving growl as he hopped towards Jack.

“Ah, so you’ve heard…”  

“Hard to miss yer drawl. ‘Bunny-cuddly-wuggly’? What are you, five?”

“Well, I thought the boot fi-”

Before Jack could even say what was on his mind right then, Bunnymund’s eyes flew into sharp alertness, his ears shot skywards instantly as he sat up ramrod straight, whipping around to catch the slightest hint of sound. Whatever it was, the way Bunnymund was furrowing his eyebrows deeper meant something was terribly amiss.

Jack wisely held his tongue and eyed Bunnymund for a beat, apparently taken aback with the sudden change in Bunnymund’s behaviour.

“North needs help,” Bunnymund announced, right before he leapt off the bed in practiced grace and headed for the door. “Whenever _you’re_ ready.”

Jack stared at Bunnymund blankly. “Er…what?”

Bunnymund gave him a look that suggested he was talking to an extraordinarily dimwitted kit. He gestured towards the door handles before he raised his front paws and wriggled them.

_Oh, right.  Lack of opposable thumbs…_

Jack paused as he took in the distinct height difference between Bunnymund and the door handles.

_…which aren’t the only things he’s short of._

Deciding to go along with the noticeably agitated rabbit (who was scratching at the door at an increasingly frantic pace), Jack wasted no time in reaching for his shepherd’s crook and opening the door. Bunnymund bolted out of the bedroom, only stopping to turn his head back and bark out a “Follow me!”  before disappearing down the hallway. Jack, now feeling a tad flustered at being thrust into a situation beyond his control _yet again_ , could only sigh in frustration before he sprinted after Bunnymund’s shadow. The helpless cluelessness he once again found himself in irked him greatly.

 “When this is all over, I’m heading _straight_ to the South Pole to start a nice, quaint, perfectly _sane_ penguin farm.”

 

* * *

 “ _North!_ ”

Bunnymund’s voice blasted across the room before Jack was even fully aware of what was happening. When you are running after a rabbit through a myriad of rooms and hallways, things tend to blur into greys and everything starts beating, as if someone had taken a bludgeon to Jack’s ear drums. The air was too hot, his lungs were on fire and voices were yelling all at once. Things happened too fast to comprehend, but Jack did have the sense to work out a few things along the way. 

Yes, he was in a palace, yes, the palace was in some winter wonderland, and yes, he was _not_ dreaming.

“It really takes something to be roped into one bizarre event after another,” Jack thought to himself as he willed his heart beat to throb back into a settled, ticking _pitter-patter_. There was only so much a dizzy and slightly nauseated ice mage could do after all that running.

“North, what happened?” Bunnymund’s rang clear throughout the new room they have entered.

The new room was slightly smaller than the bedroom, but still quite impressive. There were gadgets and gear parts, schemes and blueprints hanging on one side of the hall, and arrays of machinery and equipment meandering throughout the entire room in neat assembly lines. They were completed with several rickety-looking stools which stood just like the apparatus in disarray. The apparent handy room was clearly well-loved, if the polished and gleaming mechanism and tool parts were any clue.

Apart from the walls and choice of furniture, the room was also decorated sporadically with statues of big, hairy and hulking creatures and bell-jingling sprites doing various odd jobs and menial tasks. Jack had to give credit to the sculptor; the statues practically looked lived in. He also noted with relief the absence of any obvious torture devices or similar items which had freaked him out in the dungeon.

But what had really caught Jack’s attention, in contrast with the glittery and bright workshop décor, was a despondent North lying in the middle of the floor.

Bunnymund was already striding over to North to help him up. North, evidently in shock, could only respond with a vacant stare as he stare straight ahead of Bunnymund.

“North, snap out of it! What _happened_ to the workshop? I felt _Hope_ die a little in yo- oh no.”

Judging by Bunnymund’s shock at the sight of the statues, Jack was certain that perhaps they were _not_ supposed to be there to being with.

“The yetis and elves… _they’re all stone!_ ”

 Jack faltered as he let Bunnymund’s words sank in.

… _Workshop?_ _Yetis?_ Elves? _Wait, then this room is…which means I am now in…_ but that means _-_

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. The palace, the nippy temperatures that did not bother Jack as much as they should, the room he was resting in, Bunnymund standing vigil, North’s absence; he was in North’s workshop at the _North Pole_!

A part of Jack was welling up to dangerous levels of sheer delight at simply _being_ in _the_ workshop. The more rational side of him was going at several miles an hour trying to make sense of everything.

True, his conclusion of his current whereabouts held water, but it did not explain everything. For one thing, wasn’t North’s workshop supposed to be all abuzz with the making of toys and early preparations for Christmas? In fact, shouldn’t the entire place be overflowing with elves running to and fro the workshop carrying bundles of toys? Weren’t the elves supposed to be _alive and kicking_ to begin with?

_And what was with the yetis? Are they toy nannies or something?_

Jack felt a cold shiver crawl up his spine as he looked around the workshop. It was as silent as a grave, the statues feeling more like tombstones with every passing minute.

Something told Jack that things had just gotten lot more complicated.

Still, uncharacteristically for him, he knew he had to bide his time instead of jumping headlong into Bunnymund and North’s affairs right this minute. He also knew when and where to draw the line at insensitivity. Roaring into their faces when they were both clearly distressed surely would not help in the long run, and more than likely earn him a face full of angry claw marks.   

Jack reached the kneeling pair and, hesitating briefly, at last sunk down next to them. He was still ignored, so in order not to go insane from utter boredom, he had to open the conversation himself.

“Hey, you guys.”

Silence.

“It’s great to be at your workshop, North.”

Silence.

“You _Legends_ going to open your maws any time soon, or are we here for a charades lesson?” the ice mage finally asked sarcastically, not for the first time wondering why most of the people he was trying to help were _so_ uncooperative.

At least Bunnymund, initially deep in thought about something, whipped around to glare daggers at Jack, so he knew he was on the right track. Jack leaned slightly forward and studied the prone wooden doll more closely. Usually the life of the party, it was unsettling seeing North in such a state of woe and despair.

“What’s up with North? Is he ill?” Jack asked in concern.

Bunnymund turned around to meet Jack’s gaze with his own worried green eyes.

“In a way, he will be if the yetis and elves aren’t brought back to life soon.”

“So these statues really _are_ real-life yetis and elves?” Jack’s amazement was palpable, but soon gave way to alarmed confusion. “Wait, what do you mean by ‘if’? You don’t mean-,” he questioned Bunnymund before the horrible truth slowly hit home and made him shut up. Namely, that the witch had somehow managed to curse the North Pole, along with North’s extended family.

Jack would not put it pass her to tie the curse to North in one way or another either. 

“Uhm, so the witch…did she really…?” he asked, somewhat at a loss for words. He cocked his head and gestured at some nearby elf statues, licking his lips nervously.

“I see yer mighty fast on the uptake, Frostbite,” Bunnymund replied, slightly impressed. Jack could not help but feel a small surge of triumph as the other’s eyes briefly seemed to light up. Bunnymund immediately dropped his gaze as he furrowed his eyebrows, now looking ferociously fearsome despite his small size.

“And yes, while we were trying to escape, we found out that the ol’ bat had cursed the North Pole and bound it to North as a form of leverage,” he added quietly, clenching his paws as righteous fury welled up inside him. “The yetis and elves, they are good folk. They’ve nothin’ ta do with this mess. I swear, when I get my paws on that miscreant…”    

“Surely there’s a way to reverse the curse and save these guys?” Jack interjected quickly. “Like a counter spell or an antidote, maybe even an enchanted hammer and chisel?” Jack joked lightly, wishing for his light-heartedness to disperse the intense and near-suffocating atmosphere that seemed to have descended upon the workshop. “I’m sure we can think of something.”

Moreover, Jack knew what it was like first-hand to suddenly lose a family. He could not just stand by and watch the _Legends_ flounder in the deep end. He owed it that much to North and Bunnymund for coming to his rescue when he needed it most. 

Besides, he seemed to be heading for a disaster from the start anyway, and he still managed to get out with all his limbs attached.

The rabbit blinked, obviously surprised at Jack’s offer of aid. Before he could reply, his ears perked up and swiveled back to pick up a shuffle of movement behind them.  As the ice mage and miniature rabbit rapidly straightened up and looked behind them, their eyes widened with growing wonder at the sight before them.

North, who had seemingly snapped out of his misery, was now standing tall and composed, his posture overflowing with an air of unwavering tenacity and staunch boldness. Even without the painted war look and drawn swords, North looked every bit the steely warrior Bunnymund said he was and more.

“We _will_ save them.”

Jack could feel the waves of rock-solid determination rolling off the wooden doll, so tangible was North’s resolve to save his friends and family. Bunnymund had to take a step back, having not expected North to bounce back so quickly and with such intensity.

Then again, this _is_ North; he should have known that North would not allow himself to be kept down like that. _That_ was what made him the _Guardian_ of Wonder, _that_ was what made him a _Legend_.

“We _will_ save them,” North punctuated his words with all the ferocity of a mountain lion. “We will break the witch’s curse, save yetis and elves, and we _will emerge victorious_!” The last three words came out in a bellow that reverberated throughout the entire workshop and into the hallway, the sheer magnitude echoing like rumbling thunder amidst an overcast sky. When North finally turned around to face Jack and Bunnymund, his eyes blazed with the fires of searing grit.

Jack could not help but admire North’s resilience in such a hopeless situation; it was hard not to be seized by North’s passionate zeal.

Bunnymund smiled and marched towards North. He reached out and slapped an encouraging paw around North before turning towards Jack. “What about you, Frostbite?”

Jack blinked at Bunnymund, somewhat perplexed by the question. Then blue eyes darted briefly over to North, the wooden doll suddenly looking more…tensed. Bunnymund leveled a curt, silent look at Jack, his upper body bent backwards and ears folded flat, the quadrupled curiously appearing more intimidated by whatever Jack’s answer could be than any witch in another dimension ever seemed to have managed. 

Jack swallowed, briefly wondering why the sinking feeling in his stomach had just gotten so much worse.

Trying not to let it show how much this weirded him out, Jack nevertheless kept his face as calm as he dared, hoping he was emulating the icy cool ice mage well enough. The silence becoming unbearably loud as it stretched on, Jack wondered whether he had imagined the slight narrowing of verdant eyes, but then Bunnymund spoke up again as if nothing had happened.

“You can back out, y’know. All this,” Bunnymund swiped a paw around the workshop round. “This was never your problem to begin with, Frostbite. It ain’t fair to you to be dragged into this mess without your consent. We’ll understand if you decide to leave.”

Bunnymund gave an odd grimace that might have been a twitch of the lips on a human face. His features were schooled into neutrality, although the slight quiver in his whiskers suggested otherwise; as if he had convinced himself to accept the almost certainty of Jack backing out. North looked like he was bracing himself for the end of the world, the glance from still-blazing baby blues somehow… resigned.  

Jack felt something akin to a veil being lifted from his eyes.

_They are giving me an out. A chance to get out of this mess before I really regret anything._

In truth, the battle between magical beings was none of his business. It just so happened that he had accidentally stumbled, rather unknowingly, into it and barely made it out by the skin of his teeth. Jack was mostly staring at the ground now, his face burning hotly with embarrassment. He usually did not mind attention – lavished in it, actually – but right now he just wanted to be as far away from North’s workshop as possible. His shepherd’s crook suddenly felt as rough and uncomfortable as the damp and musky hay he had slept on back in the dungeon.

Jack gave an exasperated huff under his breath. This is pressure he did not need, but it is a decision he has to make quickly.

To stay, or to get out?

Jack shot Bunnymund a look and emerald eyes widened subtly. It took the rabbit a few seconds to blink and recover from the passing gaze, but during that fleeting moment they had looked…stoic, hardened and somehow… _hurt_?

Jack actually felt _guilty_. Which was ridiculous, really. It was Bunnymund who offered the chance, and it was he who even suggested taking it while the going is good.

To go back to being like the wind – wild and wandering, free-spirited and roaming, untamed and carefree…

_Carefree…_

And _right there_ , is the problem.

… _This whole thing just clashes with my principles, don’t they?_

If there was one thing Jack hated, it was running away from a problem with the proverbial tail between the legs. To him, it was the very picture of cowardice, running away from setbacks just because the going gets tough, rose bushes lining the pathway to freedom or not. Jack found that far more humiliating than being locked in a dungeon and left to rot.

Jack’s gaze fell onto Bunnymund and North.

Come to think of it, Bunnymund and North were basically powerless now, their statures as _Legends_ being the only things they still maintained. If he were to walk out on them this moment, how will they deal with that witch? He supposed they could always seek help from other _Legends_ or magical beings, but there was no telling what other tricks the witch has up her sleeve. If she was able to reduce two _Legends_ to harmless miniature versions of themselves, what is stopping her from turning other magical beings into something far worse?

_For that matter, who can say she won’t set her sights on the human world anytime she pleases?_

Jack shivered unconsciously as he thought about what could happen to his mother, his sister, to Jamie and his family. Every possibility that flashed across his mind grew more horrifying than the last, and he also knew that if anyone got hurt because of him, he would never be able to forgive himself.

_I cannot leave. Not when there’s more at stake here._

That realisation had Jack suddenly feeling very small. A part of him was aware that these possibilities were merely the usual dark paths a wandering mind would take whenever stress took over. Another part of him knew that there were issues bigger than what he could currently comprehend, and probably never would unless he took an active stand. The mere thought scared him, going up against a world he had only learnt of its existence a few hours ago, much less the clinically insane inhabitants of said world. 

Jack closed his eyes and forced himself onto the unfamiliar turf of tough choices, a daunting place the ice mage thought he need not set foot in for a long time, not since his _Turning_.

He just hoped the _Legends_ would appreciate what little effort he can contribute.

“I’ve made my decision.”

“Did ya now?” Bunnymund asked off-handedly, not even looking at Jack.

“You’ve probably figured me out already anyway,” Jack’s mouth was starting to run off with him again, but you try voicing your first attempts to empathise with a living magical being’s feelings.

“Wow. Ya must be a mind reader too,” dead-panned Bunnymund, paying no attention to the grinding of teeth as Jack silently berated himself for a bad habit yet to be kicked. North had remained uncharacteristically silent throughout the back and forth between Jack and Bunnymund, which made Jack feel even more conscious of the severity of the situation. Nevertheless, Jack ignored the jab, focusing on how within such a short span of time, the Legends had come to matter to him almost as much as his own family did to him.

He cleared his throat, making an effort to sound confident. “I’ll stick around to help. Not sure how much help I will be exactly, but I’m a pretty fast learner, if I do say so myself.”

At this, Bunnymund looked up. He just stood there, emerald eyes meeting icy blue eyes in silence, and then the rabbit actually…

“He’s actually half-smiling,” Jack thought and had difficulty believing it. Something in him had always insisted that whenever the megalomaniac lagomorph smiled, somebody must have been lying dead at his feet.

 _Now he’s just smiling. At_ me _._

With something fluttering inside him, Jack kept his gaze steady with Bunnymund’s. Part of him was too nervous for words, but the other part remained firm with his decision.

North was positively over the moon as he let out a whoop of pure elation and bulldozed into Jack. Icy blue eyes, wide and surprised at first as he tumbled towards the ground (North packed more of a punch than he should for a doll his making), instantly locked onto twinkling blue, then started sparkling wickedly as they beheld the doll sobbing/laughing above him.  

He looked over to Bunnymund, who had raised an eye ridge at them in amusement.

“So, Frostbite, ya absolutely sure about this?”

Jack could feel adrenaline rising within him, along with a sudden desire to prove himself, that he had made the right choice in staying.

_No backing out now._

He chuckled as he leaned in just a little bit closer to North, whose hilarious mixture of wails and mirth were subsiding somewhat, and set the doll down beside him.

“Well, I’m still here, aren’t I?” Jack commented with a wry smile as Bunnymund hopped up to them. Bunnymund stared at Jack.

“No regrets?” He asked after some time later.

Jack stared back. He felt rather strange. The awkward anxiety that came with his huge leap into the unknown seemed to be gone, replaced with a light and airy sensation. Almost as if the worries of two worlds did not weigh down on him. He could not word it any other way, but even if he knew that eventually all this would come around to bite him in the behind, he knew he will be with people – or magical beings – that he had come to trust with his life.

“No regrets,” Jack replied with more conviction than he had thought he had in him.

Then something struck him. “Cottontail, back then how did you know North was in trouble?”

It said a lot about Bunnymund’s current emotional state if a nickname that usually vexed the living daylights out of him did not so much as earn a single peep of displeasure when he turned towards Jack.

“I’m the _Guardian_ of Hope. I can feel the change in levels of Hope in every living soul. When North was lamenting over the yetis and elves, I felt Hope die a little in him. As long as there is still some Hope in him, I can track him down to the _Ends of the Earth_.”

 _Ah, that explained why Bunnymund had suddenly bolted out the door like a bat from_ Hell.

“And now, North is once more full of _Hope_ , and is feisty like young Cossack dancer!” North darted forth and made a beeline towards the door. “Let’s adjourn to bedroom and make plans! There’s piping hot milk and cookies on table!”  

Jack felt inclined to point out that it had been some time since Bunnymund and he had left the bedroom, which meant that the milk and cookies would be the complete opposite of “piping hot”.

And even while Jack and Bunnymund struggled to keep up with an exuberant North, the last look that both ice mage and rabbit exchanged – a small smug smile and an amused snort – told both of them that everything will be alright.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vocabulary:
> 
> Turning: The day when Jack fell through the ice and was imbued with ice powers.
> 
> Interestingly, Kayasurin posted on Tumblr this April Fool challenge where fan-artists write fics and vice versa for fanfic writers. Since I'm mostly a fan-artist and I was already working on Chapter 5 of WH, I thought I'll go along for the ride. Then it occurred to me that I'm kind of a fanfic writer too, so I compromised with the little doodle at the end.
> 
> It's the scene where Bunnymund went to check up on North in the workshop, with Jack some distance behind him. Consider the doodle my Easter gift to you all. The doodle can be found on my Tumblr as well at monsieur-scythebeef.tumblr.com.
> 
> Thanks for reading! 8D


	7. Simmering Down...before Leaping into the Boiling Pot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gets some much needed me-time, Bunny and North get some planning done, and Jack is once again faced with the harshness of reality and his nightmares.
> 
> But are they just nightmares, or is there something more profound at work?
> 
> Well, no answers for that in this chapter, because the author really needs an army of minions to update this story faster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, after a few months, I’ve popped up again like a bad smell. Yes, so bad was my writer’s block and so preoccupied I’ve been with comic and anime convention merchandise and a new job as a children-with-special-needs consultant. 
> 
> Well, more like a trying-to-get-some-really-obstinate-parents-to-snap-out-of-denial-without-losing-a-limb consultant, that what. 
> 
> All in all, it has been a difficult period of adjustment, but rest assured that I’ll soon skewer myself with a spork than let this fic dwindle away. Especially since I have plenty of ideas I want to write into the story and I’m a’waiting for the day when I can finally let you all read what I’m seeing in my head in regard to that matter…
> 
> In the meantime, enjoy the new chapter!

Jack sighed in bliss as he stepped into clouds of steam and hissed as hot water hit his back, muscles that had been tensed for too long finally relaxing.  

He also tried very hard not to think about the near death events that transpired last evening, the momentous decision he had just made, or a couple of miniatures two storeys below planning for-

 _Yeah, no. I’ve been sticking my neck out and under a chopping board the entire day. I think I’m allowed a quarter of an hour of me-time before I have to deal with the_ crazy _again._

Instead, Jack closed his eyes and sunk deeper into the tub, letting the hot water run over him and cleansing him from all the muck and sweat that had accumulated on his body. It stung slightly where it ran over various cuts, bruises and injuries, such as those on his palms where North’s prison security lightning bolts had scorched over.  Ignoring the burns, he scooped up a healthy amount of water and splashed it across his face, the heat soaking into his skin and revitalizing him.

Inwardly praising the wonder of water boilers, bath tubs, fluffy towels and soaps in assorted scents, Jack took in his current whereabouts.

“Huge” does not even begin to describe the place.

The ceilings soared high over his head, white stone arches with tastefully painted gold and silver vines stretched into intricately painted scenes of winter scenery on the plaster. The entire place had to be at least four thousand square metres, and more than twenty metres high. Large gothic windows let the icy blue sunlight stream in and gave a shine to the immaculately polished marble floor. Jack craned his neck around to take in all the statues, frescoes and decorations – all Christmas themed, naturally – in the bathroom – scratch that, bath _hall_.

Jack leaned against the wall, near a broad and long windowsill, relishing the cool breeze with all that warm steam in the air.

Of course, let’s not forget there was the rock basin he is sitting in.

Truth be told, Jack is convinced it was not a tub. It was a _lake_.

Actually, it was more like a series of lakes lined up in even steps, with cascading waterfalls pouring into one lake after another; and Jack happened to be sitting – or wading – in the largest and bottommost pool.

Besides receiving the strongest water flow, Jack’s bath looked ready to be iced over to hold the world’s largest ice skating tournament, complete with carnival and parade. On one end the blue seemed to be endlessly deep, on the other there were benches carved from the rock underwater, at times natural crystal granite gleaming in synch with the sparkling surface. Against such massive disproportions, Jack could not help but feel like a droplet _speck_ amidst the vase ocean.

Besides, the water was steaming. _Steaming_. Jack could barely begin to conceive the incredible number of water boilers needed to heat all that water up and pump it into the baths. Even King Henry VIII only had _one_ water boiler in his palace, and it was no Versailles.

However, even among the luxury, Jack noticed a few unusual, if not relatively expected décor nearby that practically _screamed_ of North’s whimsical personality.

Reindeer head-shaped bath taps surrounded the bath he was sitting it. The seams joining the antlers to the heads suggested they act as lever-like tap handles. A closer look revealed the words _Temperature_ and _Volume_ etched into all the left and right antlers respectively. Jewels of different shapes, sizes and colours were inlayed into the taps as reindeer noses, one of which was lit up in a brilliant violet. Lavender scented bath oil flowed steadily from the mouth of the reindeer head with the lit nose. The oil churned and gushed into the water, creating streams of bubbles that popped in playful rhythms as they floated up into the ceiling rafters.

Jack figured all the reindeer heads probably also contained bath supplies like soap, bath oils, bath powders, bath salts and shampoo; most likely controlled by the bejeweled nose buttons.

The curious hand that reached out to press the lit nose, which stopped the flow of bath oil into the water almost immediately, confirmed Jack’s theory. 

Leave it to North to put a quirky spin on Rudolph’s red nose in the form of indoor plumbing.

After flicking another reindeer nose switch – a sapphire-blue gem this time – to get hydrangea scented bath oil, Jack started lathering foam on his body, taking special care to scrub all the places where wayward magical backlashes had struck him with extra vigour. Jack could not suppress an inward shudder at the images he remembered from _that_ experience…

Teeth clenched, he briefly reached out a hand toward the temperature antler of another head (green jeweled nose this time) to let the water run hotter than was pleasant over his entire body. The phantom sensations of the witch’s face blast, the dungeon cell dirt and gunk worming into his flesh, the lingering numbness from the electrocution, and most of all, _the frightfully close brush with death_ ; he could feel all the horrors washed away with each splash of hot water against his body. Another hiss escaped his lips as he turned up the temperature again, the sensation definitely painful now.

Stopping the scrubbing for a moment, Jack paused himself and tried to take a deep breath of the moisture-laden air. He knew he would have to somehow let this go. If he let this consume him, it would only get worse.

 _Relax. You can get past this. You have been doing exactly that ever since you became…_ this.

Technically, it should not even _be_ that hard, because he had been in similar situations before; the near drowning which led to his _Turning_ , his first few months traversing the wilderness, unfortunate run-ins with bandits who thought he was an easy mark. Therein lies the difference; he knew he could run, knew he could adapt, knew he could _fight_.

 _This time_ …

Jack’s hand closed hard around the temperature antler and pushed it down. If he _had_ _not_ been able to…if he did not managed to escape, if the witch had actually gotten to him first…

_So, Frostbite, ya absolutely sure about this?_

The ice mage let out a deep breath, eyes closed as he remembered that lagomorph’s voice, a strangely calming echo that apparently was just the little help he had needed to regain his familiar state of mind, and the promise he had made to the _Legends_.

Sighing, but feeling quite a bit better, he let the water turn back from scalding to pleasantly warm, washing off the rest of the soap suds. With them also went the last remnants of his and the _Legends’_ … dungeon adventure.

_Yes, and I’m not going back on my word._

It also did not hurt when he gave himself a mental replay of all the raw power he never knew he had unleashed upon the witch’s prison security system and tearing it up in the process, of course.

* * *

 

“No. Way.”

“But Bunny-,”

“No. _Way_.”

“Now look here, Bunny,” North tried rationalising, despite knowing full well that Bunnymund’s bullheadedness can be beyond any rhyme or reason at times. “Is not very hard. Why is it so hard to see that-?”

“Sending a kid who had _just_ _barely_ survived by the skin of ‘is teeth back out to look for other _Legends_ _without_ trying to contact them first? _Really?_ ”

North sighed in exasperation. They were currently perched on top of the drawing table back in North’s bedroom. Several maps were spread across the table surface, with pieces of stationery, opened books and drafting materials strewn around them. An empty glass and a plate of cookies lay forgotten nearby, some of them nibbled around the edges.

“Bunny, do you _really_ think is good idea to contact Tooth or Sandy when witch can use _Northern Lights_ to track us down in process?”

When Bunnymund did not deign the question with a reply this time and only proceeded to glare at the wooden doll across the table, North decided to continue.

“While in dungeon, I saw nor felt any trace of other magical beings. Is good chance witch haven’t gotten to Tooth and Sandy yet, so we need Jack’s help to find them before she does.”

Bunnymund’s glare deepened. “Yer do realise I can track them down just as easily by tracing their sense of _Hope_ , right?”

North stared at Bunnymund for a bit, and then lost it.

“Ho ho ho! Bunny, is very _funny_!” he managed in between laughter, having collapsed onto the table surface. “Of course, I’m not doubting your capabilities, but in little body of yours? Wild beasts, birds and other magical beings that love eating rabbit will have field day with you!” North picked himself up and butted the upper arm of the other _Legend_ , the miniature rabbit obviously irritated, but at a loss on how to deal with his team mate who started chuckling every three seconds anew.

North has a good point, not that Bunnymund will ever admit it. He has his pride and dignity as a _Legend_ to maintain.

“Blimey, North. We have a full-blown world crisis to deal with and you are laughing yourself sick because of technicalities involving my _size and species_?” Bunnyund accused North, but by now North seemed to find the whole situation utterly hilarious. Bunnymund pinched the skin above his nose.

“Really, joking aside, Bunny,” North finally managed to calm himself down. His voice had taken on a faint but sharp edge, which prompted Bunnymund to look up. “I know it’s unfair to Jack, and I don’t like it either, but every second we sit here discussing what to do next, witch will be out hunting for others.”  

North hopped up to Bunnymund and shoved piercing blue eyes into slightly startled verdant orbs. “We are dealing with a being that can turn _us_ _Legends_ into… _these_ , and worse. There is no time to spare, and you know it.”

For a moment, the sheer, intense _seriousness_ of North’s tone almost sent a shiver run through the rabbit. Bunnymund steeled his whiskers, trying to keep himself together.

“I know, North,” Bunnymund sighed, trying to get himself to accept the fact that yes, North was still capable of intimidating others despite being a doll (not that he was put off in the least, oh no), yes, Jack is gifted with magic despite being human; a fact almost unheard of among mortals and thus, he is perfectly more than capable of rising to the challenge…

…and yes, no matter how unfair it is to Jack, he is the only one whom they can fully trust _now_. They have no other choice but to rely on him to make first contact with other _Legends._

To push a human child back so soon into the dangers of _their_ world, all because of their infuriatingly helpless states…

_This whole situation is a right mess, ain’t it?_

Bunnymund drew a breath when he heard the other hummed in puzzlement at his silence. “Bunny-,”

“Right, I’ll tell yer what,” Bunnymund grabbed North and leapt down onto the floor. “We’re goin’ over to Jack’s quarters now, and yer gonna tell him what yer just told me. See how he takes it.”

“At least that way,” Bunnymund added under his breath. “Frostbite can share the awkwardness I’ve somehow found myself in.”

* * *

 

After what seemed like an eternity but in reality had only been a few minutes (owing to the laws of rest-and-relaxation that a bath always feels longer in accordance with the amount of dirt and gunk accumulated on the bather), Jack finally stepped out of the tub, feeling fresh and relaxed once more. He toweled himself dry and – with an eye-roll – also took care of his shepherd’s crook as best as he could, washing and scrapping off the grime-caked piece of wood firmly in the bath. 

For a moment, he could not help but wonder what would have happened to him all this time if he had not have his trusty shepherd’s crook as a conduit for his magic…

_Probably extra crispy with a side of kick-the-bucket and a dash of six-feet-under, if that magic showdown was any clue…_

Putting the piece of wood aside, Jack bent down to towel his feet dry, fingertips briefly brushing over clumsily cut nails. His lips twitched momentarily, no sure whether to cringe or smile at the memory of his shoeless travels on wide open dirt paths. At least he could ice over his soles to avoid any unnecessary cuts and scratches caused by the wayward sharp pebble.

_Gives me the extra boost to cover more ground before dark, too._

The ice mage shook his head, disposing of the dirty towel in the hamper. A silver eyebrow was raised when he spied a new change of clothes in a nearby basket.

Emphasis on the word “new” because these clothes actually have _colour_. His old rags could easily be mistaken for something the cat coughed up.

A swift grab into the topmost layer quickly revealed a crisp and clean deep-blue tunic with silver trimmings that smelled like an azure sky of the deepest summer. As Jack brushed his fingers over the soft yet sturdy material, he could almost taste the grass of sweeter pastures. The fresh scent filled his nostrils and made his senses sing to the symphony of clean aroma. He reached down and yanked out another article of clothing, this time a pair of tan trousers. They also smelled pristine, like a ray of sunshine plucked from the sun. Neat white undergarments, socks, a couple of black belts with silver buckles and a pair of belted dark leather boots sitting by the basket completed the rest of the ensemble.

Jack could not even being to remember when was the last time he had worn something so _clean_. Personal hygiene did not exactly top the list when there were other priorities like food and shelter while travelling.

If he had to guess, his own sack of threads was probably somewhere in an incinerator or two right now. Not that he would miss them terribly.

The ice mage smiled in appreciation as he slid himself into the garments, fabric smooth and loose as he liked it. A few quick and practiced strokes with his hands got his unruly hair into its proper place again.  He considered the socks and boots for a few seconds before deciding against wearing them. Truth be told, he rather enjoyed going around shoeless, since it gave him more freedom to move about. Footwear would only impede his speed; why wear shoes to walk and run when iced soles are the equivalent of actual ice-skating?

Finally, the moment the silver buckles snapped shut around his waist, Jack felt like a complete person again. He grabbed his now-dry shepherd’s crook and gave himself another glance in the mirror. Jack noticed that after the much needed bath and putting on new clothes his overall appearance even seemed sharper and sleeker than before, and definitely more energetic and invigorated. He could not help but give an honest grin, the ice mage now absolutely loving what he saw.

_Oh yeah. Look out world, here I come. Cottontail’s jaw had better drop._

It showed in his step as he descended the staircase with a bounce in his stride. The _Legends_ still seemed to be in North’s bedroom, but Jack did not mind. He was glad for some more minutes of downtime before some crazy warfare planning inevitably would need to follow. He turned into his chambers – courtesy of North letting out one of his many guestrooms – and made a beeline for the generous spread on the table.

He grabbed the pitcher of fruit juice and poured a liberal amount into a tall glass, the rich and tangy flavours delighting his taste buds and eliciting another smile. Snagging a nearby pop tart and a berry compote puff as the last additions to his plate of private heaven, he washed them down with the practiced motions of someone who got banged up on a regular basis with an empty stomach. Tummy satisfied for the moment, Jack turned and wandered, tall glass still in hand with a second helping of juice and a plate of grapes, over to the bed.

He collapsed into the comfortable bedding with a sigh, one foot coming up to rest on the soft sheets. Granted, the room is smaller and sparser than North’s bedroom, but to one who had come from humble beginnings such as he, it was like living in a nobleman’s mansion. A cool breeze blew into the room through an opened window, soothing his scrapes and sore spots while he bit into a grape and savoured the burst of juices slid down his throat. Jack took a large gulp from his glass and popped another grape into his mouth, enjoying the combined sugary zing of both fruit and drink.

Right at that moment, he could not help but think about the incredible fortune and pleasure of meeting Bunnymund and North.

He seriously, honestly, really, truly, absolutely positively **_loved_** his life right now.

Jack melted into the pillows some more as, with the adrenaline wearing off, his muscles now seriously began to ache, but it was a good kind of ache. In Jack’s opinion, it simply meant that it had obviously been a day well spent. He could stay like this for a few more minutes until he has to face the issue of, well, whatever Cottontail and North were harping about; something about finding other _Legends_ before it is too late and the like.

His head turned as he heard some familiar footsteps coming in the direction of his room. He gave a small salute with the half empty glass as the mini _Legends_ appeared in the doorway.

“Hey.”

* * *

 

On numerous occasions, Bunnymund had heatedly argued with North (who, as always, chose to overlook them in the form of boisterous laughter) about the various cons of the dilemma they had found themselves entangled in. Now, as he piggybacked the doll towards the encroaching door that led to Jack’s temporary chamber, he _knew_ for sure that all hopes of leaving with the last shreds of his dignity intact had sailed out the window and died in the frozen wasteland outside.

Bunnymund did not really know what to expect when he opened the door. Perhaps a sleeping Jack, or a skittish boy warming up by the fireplace, maybe even cautiously nibbling on a piece of pastry or two he knew North had set aside for the boy. He knew from experience how difficult it can be to settle down into new environments, especially considering how Jack was constantly forced into one life-threatening situation after another. It was enough to unnerve even the manliest of mortal manly men, much less a child barely stepping into adulthood.

Thus, he was _not_ expecting a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed boy lounging about the room as if he had lived there all his life. He was also not expecting said boy to be so smartly dressed, looking every bit the ice mage he is, while carrying a plate full of food and spiritedly munching on a fruit tart.

He was also not expecting said ice mage to look so…so… _nice_.

For a mortal, that is.

Now without the gunk and filth that covered every expanse of the boy’s body, Bunnymund can see a lithe and strong frame underneath the robes. The swagger in Jack’s steps bespoke heightened confidence and a strangely natural grace, like a panther poised to spring into action at any second. Silvery-white hair flowing and gleaming, fair skin clean and glowing, with a hint of flowers (an odd, yet pleasant mix of lavender and hydrangea) trailing in his wake…  

_…Frostbite cleaned up pretty good._

Bunnymund blinked, a bit startled at his own thoughts, and perhaps to see Jack up and about and at complete ease with his surroundings.

“Hello, Jack Frost!” North greeted him enthusiastically. “You look good in new clothes! Handsome, even!” His words were accompanied by a pleased smile, a sharp contrast to the expression of his companion, who was apparently wearing a cross between his trademark scowl and a gobsmacked codfish. Coupled with the left paw clutching the wooden doll and the right one stretched out for balance, the rabbit looked rather comical, to say the least.

“Hi Cottontail, hi North,” Jack greeted both _Legends_. “Thanks for the clothes and room, North. Want a fruit tart?”

“No, thanks,” Bunnymund replied curtly, having snapped out of his reverie upon hearing the word “Cottontail”. He regarded the proffered tart which, in all honesty, looked demolished beyond recognition; the compote and berries practically caving into the cookie dough to form a peculiar blend of jam and crumb that hung precariously between Jack’s fingers.

“Everything alright here, then?” he asked, receiving an expression of mild surprise from Jack at the greeting from the usually high-strung Easter Bunny. Jack actually felt a small smile and a sudden warm sensation that spiked up briefly in his stomach. Probably because he had not felt concern for his well-being from another person, let alone a magical creature, for a _long_ time…

“Everything’s…warm and toasty,” Jack chuckled nervously, the sentence sounding less like stating the obvious and more like something thrown out as a temporary cover for being emotionally tongue-tied.

Bunnymund raised an eye ridge dryly and North laughed heartily. Jack shook his head to shrug his nerves off. “Anyway, do you need anything? Besides the… er, almost eaten tart, that is.”

Blue eyes drifted over to the quadrupled and were met with emerald eyes that showed returning signs of distress.

“As a matter of fact,” Bunnymund straightened up almost immediately, and Jack privately wished that the light-hearted conversation could have just continued. He still remembered how delighted he himself had been to discover the other’s sense of humour; when the rabbit was able to match his wit word-for-word back when he had woken up.   

“North and I have been talking, and well…we have something to tell yer.”

Jack paused, before squaring his features into a look of seriousness. From the looks of it, his downtime had just come to an abrupt end.

* * *

 

_A vast sea of sand extends in all directions, arid and foreboding, as vast as an ocean and as lifeless as the Moon. Though, once, not long ago there was much life in this place. There was life and blood where two armies collided. The hard clash of metal on metal, the thick wet sound of metal slicing through flesh and bone; anguished cries and wails of the dying and the damned, all penetrating the blood-red skies._

_Jack was standing from a safe distance, watching all that unfolded in unabashed horror. The menacing masked and armoured figure beside him simply stood and watched as more blood was spilled and soaked into the dunes._

_He still stands in that place up high, held aloft by a massive beast with a behemoth of a body and the mangled face of a creature found only in nightmares, with wings as black as the Hell from which it was conjured from._

_Anyone who looked upon this being sensed it innately. It desires Death. It desires blood. It desires destruction, and all is given to him readily._

_It proceeded to cast a glance skywards and let out a shriek that pierced through the very core of Jack’s soul, a sound so horrid it bore into his skull and tore his sanity asunder._

_Yet the vast and endless desert is not without towering columns made of stone, surrounded by worshippers who chant the creature’s name amidst the brutal screams._

_Their King._

_Their Saviour._

_Their God._

_They love him._

_They adore him._

_They revere him._

_And they fear him._

_Jack felt utterly_ sick _. He wanted nothing more than to turn tail and run, to get away from the burning agony laid bare before him._

_Then the menacing figure turned around and a pair of blinding beams of light fell harshly into his eyes as he could only make out the nightmarish silhouette of the being standing suddenly in front of him._

_It flexed angry claws that glinted sinisterly, the putrid metallic tang of blood-like mist that hung in the air suddenly seemed suffocating. He reached for Jack and opened those claws wide, as if it could swallow Jack whole…_

“ **NO!** ” Jack screamed as his eyes flew open. He jolted up from bed with a shuddering gasp. He was still convulsing from the horror he had just dreamt as images still fresh flashed through his head all at once, making him feel sharp and alive, yet nauseous and faint. He could almost feel the cold and clammy claws of the nightmare reaching out towards him, dragging him back into the abyss of sleep and continue from where it had left off…

…and Bunnymund rushed over to his bedside in an instant, cooing and squeaking in soothing tones at the terrified ice mage as Jack clutched his blanket like a lifeline.

“It…he…,” Jack managed, but his voice hitched, eyes squeezed tightly shut and face buried in white, comforting fluffy sheets.

“Frostbite, what on Earth happened?! What’s wrong?” Bunnymund managed, patting a tuft of white hair awkwardly, _so_ not used to comforting another living being.

“That _thing_ …,” Jack started. “Bunny, I just saw-,” he tried again, but then quickly noticed certain key things. Namely, a lack of said armoured being, and a very sudden lack of a war zone. He now became acutely aware instead of the fact that they were still in his temporary quarters, he was also drenched in sweat and his lower body tangled hopelessly in the sheets.

As well as one very confused rabbit sitting beside him.

Jack’s closed his eyes tightly and knitted his brows together as he tried to force his breathing to be more even. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he replayed everything in his mind and trembled in sheer terror and disgust. He was genuinely scared by what he had just dreamt. He had nightmares before, but none as violent nor morbid as this one.

Silence descended, the rabbit wisely keeping quiet while Jack gathered himself. The ice mage opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, not saying anything for a spell. He just sat there, panting and wheezing, the silence stretching on. Jack briefly wondered whether he might be losing it faster than he thought he would, but he was too drained to care. The thought occurred whether Bunnymund would start reading into his panic attack and draw conclusions from it.

After all, it’s not every day a pair of legendary (mini) figureheads came striding into your room and proclaimed that you are the only thing standing between a dimensional onslaught and world peace. By the way, how do you feel about taking a few steps ahead of everyone else and seek out the other _Legends,_ while possibly battling hostile creatures left and right, before the witch enslaves us all?

Talk about dropping the Big Cheese of all stink bombs.

Seriously, _who in their right mind_ delivers such earth-shattering news at the drop of the hat just like _that_? For that matter, _who_ follows it up with a figurative slap across the face and expects you to answer within a moment?

So, in his defence, it was perfectly logical for Jack to feel a little _too_ overwhelmed. His mind was quick, but not _that_ quick. Therefore, blacking out was a completely viable option.

Jack tensed mentally, knowing that with the remnants of the nightmare coursing through his mind, he might not be able to hold conversation with the rabbit should he start asking questions. Would Bunnymund rethink his decision in letting Jack aid them?

Bunnymund’s own thoughts, on the other hand, were along completely different lines as he stared hard at the tensed-up boy, expression unreadable. He was reluctant to show how freaked out he was when Jack screamed blue murder. It had lashed across his insides like a whip, a sound he thought he was immune to – the strangled sound of someone dying as the last sliver of Hope in them was snuffed out mercilessly.

A sound he had not heard since the loss of his homeland and people.

Bunnymund bowed his head.

“Look, we’re… _I_ …am sorry.”

There was a pause. The effect those words had been immense, even if he could not see it as he stared at his paws.

Jack had nearly dropped his jaw. Had Bunnymund just… _apologised_?

“We know when we’re licked,”Bunnymund admitted, wrinkling his nose. “I didn’t like it any better than North did, but we really need yer help, now more than ever. We just didn’t expect yer to…take it so hard.”

Jack’s clenched fists fell down to his sides, the ice mage blinking owlishly, not at all sure what to do. He opened and shut his mouth, the usually flippant boy at a loss of what to reply. The sudden apology from Bunnymund had blind-sided him; Jack having been prepared for some shouting, for snark, for some sarcastic remark…not this.

_Great, Cottontail, you went and played the sympathy card. What the heck am I supposed to do now?!_

The quadrupled was of no help either. Bunnymund was still staring at his feet, not explaining himself, leaving Jack the one who had to do something. A part of him wanted to reach out to Bunnymund; to tell him that none of this was his fault, but he could not. His pride still stung at having had his mind trampled like this in his sleep.

Taking a deep breath, Jack decided to opt for a neutral question.

“Where’s North?” he asked, clutching his blanket closer to himself. Bunnymund looked up blinkingly.

“He’s in his bedroom drawing up alternative plans, since his suggestion was a little too…,” Bunnymund bit his lower lip as he searched for more appropriate words. “… _much_ …for you. He’s been trying to map out the last known locations of the other _Legends_. ‘S been a couple of millennia since we last met, so finding them won’t be easy. Not sure how he’s gonna do it without rousing the suspicious of the witch either, since he’s about as subtle as a kick in the face.”

At that, Jack cracked a small smile.

“Nothing gets ol’ North down,” then he furrowed his eyebrows again and turned to Bunnymund, expression turned serious. “I’m…sorry too. I didn’t handle myself too well back then, but it was a _lot_ to take in.”

The rabbit sighed. “I suppose we could have put it across more…diplomatically, but you must know this ain’t easy for North or me, Frostbite.” Bunnymund’s eyes glazed over with restrained emotion. “Neither of us have worked together, let alone with anyone else, in such…close proximity…for a long time.”

“It’s not that hard,” Jack shrugged, his tone the icing on a shark’s grin. “Not giving others cardiac arrest as and when you fellows please helps, of course.”

Bunnymund glared, knowing the cheeky ice mage was not going to let him forget that anytime soon. “Keep that up, Frostbite, and that cocky attitude of yours will be runnin’ away with yer like a mutt with its tail between its legs. Now can we focus on the topic at hand again?”

Jack’s rat-like grin remained on his face. “What’s there to focus on? You said so yourself, you haven’t seen the other _Legends_ in ages, and you haven’t a clue about their whereabouts.”

Bunnymund’s ears perked up. Is this conversation going where he thinks it’s going?

Jack moved closer to Bunnymund and jabbed a finger into his chest fluff. “The way I see it, I guess we’d have to kick things up a notch, find them before the witch does, and get them back to North’s place faster than she could blink. Problem solved, you get your old selves back and I can be on my merry way again.”

For a moment, Bunnymund was at a loss for words.

Talk about a 180 degree turnabout. An unexpected one, but very much welcomed nevertheless. For a mortal kid still wet behind the ears in the ways of adulthood, he sure bounces back faster than a cockroach.

“This ain’t goin’ to be as easy as you think it may be,” Bunnymund said, moving towards the edge of the bed and trying to ignore the jab, but the finger stabbing into his chest suddenly stopped him, Jack barring his way.

“I know that, Cottontail! I may not have been around for as long as you guys, but I’m not stupid. I know what I’m getting myself into, otherwise I wouldn’t have leapt onto the loon bandwagon.”

They both stood staring at each other, neither making any move. Jack briefly wondered whether he might have overstepped his boundaries. He was still, after all, in the presence of one Easter Bunny who had a fuse shorter than his currently shorted out nerves. True, he was testy, but who wouldn’t be jittery after a nightmare like _that_?

“And after the nightmare I just had, I don’t want to go back to sleep anytime soon. Let’s go to North’s room!”

Bunnymund scowled at the retreating blue back. Yet, at the same time, he could not help but wonder what that nightmare might have been if it let Jack act this agitatedly. No matter, if Frostbite does not feel comfortable with sharing the details, he would not press him for them. Grunting in annoyance, the rabbit leapt from the bed and settled into a steady pace behind Jack while keeping a trained and alert eye on him.

Jack, meanwhile, quickened his pace towards North’s chambers. He suppressed a wince as memories of the nightmare flooded back into his mind. It was never easy to return to peaceful slumber after any nightmare, and right now there were just too many thoughts chasing one another around his head.

Had the horror he had just mentally experienced any meaning to it? Generally, Jack was not the kind of person who would puzzle endlessly over some deep, potential subconscious enigma. Instead, he preferred much more to just get up and wander aimlessly about until he found some mildly life-threatening situation that would make _sure_ he took his mind off things, lest he did not want his head removed as well.

However, this was not even his first nightmare since he left his village. Then again, none of them had been this disturbing either…

Jack let out a deep sigh.

_Not like I know where to begin or do anything about it anyway. The sooner I get this over with, the better._

As he felt something as heavy as a cement block encasing his insides, blue eyes closed tightly as their owner gave himself a quick mental shakeup before gliding down the hallway, a somewhat miffed yet slightly concerned rabbit in tow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never been to a luxury bath. be it local or overseas, nor have I the money to do so.
> 
> So I looked up some references online to get an idea of how North's monster of a bathroom might look like. The reindeer taps idea was something that came to me before the research, by the way. 
> 
> And yes, the King Henry VIII thing is a fact when I looked him up. Only royalty and certain nobility can afford a water boiler in their residences. 
> 
> As for Jack's new clothes, I actually went and dumped some of my dirty laundry into the washer just so I could have some semblance of inspiration to describe clean and fragrant laundry. Yup, that's how insane I am. 
> 
> Next chapter: While North does some damage control in the workshop and dig up more information about the witch, Jack and Bunny go Legend a-hunting. Which Legend will they contact first? What sort of hijinks will Jack get himself into? Will Bunny's headache ever go away? Why is the author so notoriously bad at updating? 
> 
> All shall be revealed. Eventually.
> 
> Thanks for reading! *spirits self away*


	8. Tooth and Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Bunnymund tried to gather information about Tooth in Dawnsford, the town the tooth fairy was supposedly last seen in. Jack gets schooled, Bunnymund is still a Grumpy Gus, and both realised that Tooth's disappearance may not be as cut-and-dry as they thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I use British English, so certain words will take on a different way of spelling. Like “color” vs. “colour”, “realize” vs. “realise”, and “practice” vs. “practise”. On a side note, I use “practice” when referring to the noun form. =P
> 
> Wow, it's been a while, ehehe...*guilty look*
> 
> This past few months had been very hectic for a range of reasons, mostly involving the institution known as school which is the creation of the devil, preparing for back-to-back anime conventions (seriously, who the heck plans these things back-to-back?) and paperwork.
> 
> Lots and lots and LOTS of paperwork. Curse you, tree murderers!
> 
> Like the previous chapter, this one ran away from me while laughing raucously, so this chapter took a number of nights to piece together in between my timetable. I also spent some time researching about fantasy creatures, rereading LOTR to get some inspiration and getting in touch with my inner Gintama troll. I'm out of my mind with relief to have FINALLY gotten it out of my hair in time as an early Jackrabbit Christmas present to you all.
> 
> As a BIG THANK YOU to all you readers who have been with WH all this time, I have a surprise prepared for you guys that'll come...a little later. =D 
> 
> But first, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Catch you on the flipside!

Jack had always been fascinated with the idea of flight. He would often shimmy up trees to bask in the warmth of the afternoon sunlight filtering through the canopy or lay across his hut’s rooftop to stare lazily at passing clouds. He would then imagine himself flying through the air like a bird, or when he was feeling more adventurous, a dragon gliding among the birds.

Now, as he meandered through a howling vortex of hail and snow in North’s sleigh, he decided that while _actually_ flying was every bit as _exhilarating_ as he had imagined and then some _,_ he really should be more worried about crashing into said wayward dragons or birds.

Or worse, _wayward_ _mountain tops_.     

The sleigh gave an intense lurch as it narrowly missed another hail stone. Jack swore he almost got a nasty case of whiplash as the sleigh settled back into a steady pace through the snowstorm. 

_Forget mountain tops. We’ll be lucky if we can avoid getting beaned with hail stones the size of hay wagons!_

A terrified yelp, followed by a sudden tightening sensation around his left leg alerted Jack to Bunnymund’s presence.

If the quivering lump of snow coated fur and mess that had balled fiercely into Jack’s pant leg can even be identified as Bunnymund.

_Huh. Bunnymund is afraid of heights._

The glint in Jack’s eyes turned a touch rat like.

_This…is excellent blackmail material._

“WE’RE ALMOST AT TOOTH’S LAST KNOWN LOCATION!” North shouted over the haunting wail of the wind and snapped the reins. The reindeer reared back and bellowed ferociously before galloping into the blizzard, sending the sleigh careening further into the soup of rime and slush. Regardless how impressive North’s driving skills were, Jack could not help but wonder how a wooden doll was able to steer a sleigh with no hands.     

Then again, maybe trying to survive a snowstorm made for very good motivation. Jack was no stranger to snow; in fact, if he could, he would make it a white winter every year. There was just something… _enchanting_ …about walking through a blanket of powdery white and letting the peaceful silence caress your senses.

Of course, not forgetting the snowball fights, snowman building, ice skating and sledding days, all wrapped up nicely with a nice cup of warm milk in front of a cozy fireplace before bedtime.

Since his village was located nearer towards the North it was covered in snow almost half the year, much to Jack’s delight. Sure, he had experienced and dealt with snowstorms before – sometimes causing a few unintentionally after he became Jack Frost –, but never a blizzard as vicious as this.

“USUALLY SNOWSTORMS AROUND THESE PARTS AREN’T SO VIOLENT! LOSING MY POWERS MUST HAVE UPSET THE MAGICAL BALANCE OF NORTH POLE! WE MUST HURRY!” North snapped the reins again to speed the sleigh up.

Bunnymund’s only response was to curl up even more into Jack’s leg. With the way he was practically wrapped around Jack’s calf like an iron vice, Jack would not be surprised if Bunnymund somehow managed to implode on himself.

“I’LL DROP YOU OFF OUTSIDE THE NEAREST TOWN – DAWNSFORD, I THINK – BEFORE GOING BACK TO NORTH POLE TO MAP OUT SANDY’S LAST KNOWN LOCATION!” North swerved out of the path of a barrage of hail stones even bigger than the previous one.

“SEE IF YOU CAN GATHER ANY INFORMATION ON TOOTH FROM THE MAGICAL BEINGS AROUND THE AREA! FIND HER BEFORE THE WITCH DOES! IF WITCH CATCHES HER, IT’LL BE VERY BAD! I CAN FEEL IT-,” North snapped the reins again that had the sleigh thundering past another rain of hail stones in the nick of time. “IN MY BELLY!”

 _Did I say hail stones the size of hay wagons? Make that_ fully loaded _hay wagons!_

 

~~\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------~~

 

“And **_stay out_**!”

Bunnymund had never been particularly fond of flying, whether via dragon, sleigh, or some miscellaneous self-propelled method. If anything, he avoided it like the plague. Today he decided, as he soared through the air with all the grace of a petrified bird, he had sampled considerably more than the recommended daily intake of category three. 

His thoughts were cut short by a huge oak tree which decided to sink its roots directly in his flight path. The consequent _thunk_ gave the entire tree a terrible case of the shakes, upsetting a few acorns on a lower branch which plopped neatly onto Bunnymund.

At least the ground was mercifully spongy against his cranium, but the price he had to pay for a cushioned landing was an unexpected skin-like consistency to the marshy earth. He found himself sinking to new humiliating lows when Frostbite picked him off his feet and held him up like a lost puppy, a crooked grin threatening to split his face in a “I told you so” way. 

Thank Manny _North_ was not around to see the spectacle, not to mention the fact that his performance did not seem to be endearing him to the only other member of the audience in the form of the massive arms master who looked like a badly disguised troll. The man was so big that he looked as though he had not only eaten all his greens as a kid, but also his fair share of castles and fjords.   

The arms master surveyed his handiwork with a loud grunt, dusted off his enormous hands and marched back wordlessly into his shop, slamming the gates with such force the whole structure rattled on its hinges.

“Well, that went well,” Jack said sarcastically.

“Gee, what gave _that_ away?” Bunnymund replied with just as much snark, wriggling vigorously as he tried worming his way out from Jack’s hold.

“I don’t know. I think I lost it somewhere between you trying to meet your troll acquaintance who apparently masquerades as a human arms master, me telling you that humans might not take too well to a talking bipedal rabbit entering shops through the front door no matter how rabbit-like you look or behave, and said hard-headed rabbit completely ignoring me…”

Bunnymund glowered his displeasure at a now openly smirking Jack. “Says the gumby who had his shepherd’s crook mistaken for a toothpick by a brownie on lunch break. We spent the better half of the afternoon running and hiding from its friends because you knocked its teeth out when you dropkicked it in an attempt to retrieve your ruddy stick!”

Jack’s grin instantly vanished. “Well, how was I supposed to know that brownies travel in groups? I’ve only been in touch with your world for a grand total of two days!” he argued with an exasperated air. “The only magical beings I know are you, North, the tooth fairy and that witch, so excuse me if I hadn’t yet turned into a walking dictionary of all things magical!”

Bunnymund was about to return with a similarly snide remark when his brain registered Jack’s retort . Much as he hated to admit it, Frostbite had a point. While finding Tooth remained their top priority, Jack still needed time to get accustomed to the magical world. He could not expect the boy to jump into the thick of things just like that, however insufferably wily he was.

To his credit, Frostbite was an enthusiastic learner; often bombarding him with a volley of questions whenever he spied any magical beings nearby. The unabashed awe on his face every time Frostbite learnt new tidbits of information on his world had been just as entertaining.

Bunnymund paused, confused with his thoughts yet again. He sighed crossly after some time and threw himself onto the pebbled street next to Jack, looking just about as happy as a sack of old moldy potatoes. Jack leaned back against the base of the tree to take a breather. They were understandably cranky and exhausted after a long day of fruitless searching; not exactly the greatest combination of emotions to deal with.

On the other hand, it had also been a very…rigorously educational…day. Jack never knew there were _so many_ creatures of fantasy and lore lurking within human settlements. Most of them were harmless enough, preferring to stay just out of sight and observe from a distance; the more sentient ones were typically benign towards humans and helped them out in a variety of discreet ways that ranged from aiding in simple household chores to servicing the community, like that troll arms master.

The few seemingly malignant beings however, chose to remain in the shadows and watch the crowds quietly in the form of beady little eyes. Jack had spotted some tiny bright dots peering at him unblinkingly from dark nooks and crannies. The cold and clammy shivers that shot down his spine whenever he saw them had nothing to do with his abilities.    

Meeting and conversing with these magical beings was just as extraordinarily intriguing, if not downright surreal at times. While the more intelligent beings took his appearance in stride, most of them were as surprised as Bunnymund had been and even more eager to know how a mere mortal like him learnt magic, much to Jack’s amusement and Bunnymund’s annoyance.

Jack also had to turn down offers from the more curious ones to display his ice powers on several occasions. Unless he wanted to be run out of a town that, according to North, could very well hold the only lead to finding the tooth fairy, he had to keep even the slightest possible spark of his abilities in check. Unfortunately, some of them did not handle rejection very well.

Suffice to say, the unnecessary addition of running and hiding had considerably soured their moods.

“We’ve looked everywhere, we’ve asked every magical being with half a brain I can sniff out,” Bunnymund turned to face Jack with a peeved look before raging on. “And all ‘em drongos either know diddly-squat, or we wound up gettin’ arseholed or chased by mental yobbos! How in bloomin’ blazes are we supposed to find Tooth at this rate?”

Jack clicked his tongue in disinterest. “For starters, sulking isn’t going to get us very far. We haven’t tried approaching _all_ of the magical creatures yet.” Jack jabbed his shepherd’s crook at a nearby flower shop. “What about that er…fairy, I think? She might know something.”

Bunnymund glanced half-heartedly over at the stall Jack gestured towards, flicking his eyes dismissively over the bouquets exploding over the rims of their damp wooden crates. Aside from the butterfly wings delicately wrapped around her shoulders like a vibrantly clashing shawl and long pointed ears carefully concealed under a skillfully twisted hair bun, the fairy looked every bit the opportunistic stall keeper. She kept scurrying to and fro between customers, shoving flowers into their faces and tittering about some over-the-top story of how the flowers came to be. 

“I’ve seen _and_ grown better flowers at my warren,” Bunnymund said in distaste. “Those flower fae are nothin’ but perky meshes of flutter, sap and froufrou. You’ll be lucky if you can get their heads out of the clouds, let alone a shred of useful information.” He spared one last disapproving look at the too-bright colours before he turned away in a swirl of blueish-grey fur and hopped down the street.

“We won’t know if we don’t try…?” Jack piped up, only for his suggestion to be drowned out as the roar of the market place washed over himself and Bunnymund as they rejoined the flow of the crowd.

Bunnymund’s scowl had been unwavering the very moment he stepped into the throng of legs. His sharp ears had been picking up on infuriating cooing aplenty directed at him since the day started. Maneuvering his way in and out of the crowd to avoid being stepped on was hardly his idea of a rollicking good time; neither was dealing with the increasing number of odd looks and whispered fussing. Bunnymund swore if he heard one more simpering mortal requesting Frostbite if they could cuddle “his pet rabbit”, he would string them up and over the town stocks, _Legend_ honour be damned.

He is _the_ Easter Bunny for Manny’s sake! He was – is – a proud warrior of the Pooka, a _Legend_ among magical beings, _Guardian of Hope and Life_ , _Herald of Spring_ and a master of the _Fighting Arts_! He was not, nor had he ever been, _a cute and cuddly pet_!

“Quite frankly, I don’t know what you’re getting your whiskers in a twist about,” Jack snorted as he picked Bunnymund up by the scruff and dropped him into the safety of his hood. If Bunnymund hated being cooed at, he _despised_ the very idea that in order for him to find Tooth, he had been reduced to a mere carry-wear due to the mass hysteria a “cute and cuddly” rabbit would create among the general human populace. “All you had to do was ask if you needed a lift.”

“Easy for you to say,” Bunnymund snapped irritably as he ducked lower into the hood. The market place was packed and the aisles congested. How Frostbite managed to squeeze himself into empty pockets within the crowd and not be bothered by all the pushing, shoving and elbowing was beyond him. Then again, there were currently more pressing concerns.

“Back to the topic at hand. We’ve just sailed straight past the tailor store and I’m pretty sure I saw a couple of creatures that looked suspiciously like North’s elves dancing among the ribbon spools.” 

“Pixies. Mischief makers, the lot of them. If they aren’t indulging in human finery, they’re harassing horses and making knotted ringlets in their manes for the heck of it. Fat lot of good that’ll do us.”

“How about that jeweler?”

“Goblins. They talk about nothin’ _but_ human finery and would only part with information in exchange for gold and precious stones. Even then said information was dubious at best.”

“The book store? I’m not sure but I thought I saw some tiny people with an impossible number of chins buried among books. Literally,” Jack’s voice had taken on an almost miffed edge now that he started running out of options.

“Bookworms. They read, they eat the books they read, they read some more, they sleep in the books they eat, they read even more, they become grotesquely flabby versions of what they had eaten, and then they read some more. Rinse and repeat.”

“The community gardens? The pet shop maybe? I saw plenty of intelligent-looking animals conversing subtly among themselves.”

“You mean them wood sprites among the cabbage patch and those mortlings twitching their noses by the window? Those rodents are just sorry excuses for lemmings; the former obsessing over ‘the perfect swan dive bungee’ into vegetable patches, the latter always seeking out various hotchpotch methods in order to throw themselves further off clifftops in some cracker thrill of a competition. Bunch of suicidal tossers, that’s what they are.”  

“Alright, time out,” Jack implored wearily. “I can’t think while you hang off my back. Let’s go sit down.” He took Bunnymund’s grumpy harrumph as a sign of agreement and began to break away from the main street. Truth be told, Jack was relieved to put some distance between himself and the crowd. Sure, he could handle the afternoon rush as well as any average farm folk. What he found somewhat overwhelming was the mixture of body odours that had started to lean towards smells suggestive of sitting in the back of a manure wagon for several hours too long to be considered hygienic.

Jack cut through the two-way flow of human traffic and into the more peaceful setting of a residential side street, set with pretty cobblestones and ornate lamp posts in front of every door. A quaint and pleasantly secluded beauty sport overlooking a section of the picturesque plains and farmlands came into view at the end of the street. Jack immediately zeroed in on the nearest bench hammered into the patch of green turf.

“Much better. As nice as it was to get away from all the barmy cooing, I could really do without the jostling!” Bunnymund wriggled out of Jack’s hood and landed with a little _plop_ on the grass. He gave himself a little shake like a dog after a bath and stretched the kinks out of his joints.   

Jack leaned against the backrest of the bench and reclined as best as he could against the carved stone. Now that the din of the crowd was nothing but a muffled drone in the background, he realised that it was not actually such a bad day to be out as long as you had nowhere to be and nothing to do. It was unusually warm for this time of the year and the sun had been beating down constantly from the moment they had descended through the clouds and alighted from North’s sleigh in the nearby forest. Bunnymund settled into a comfortable position beside him, which indicated he was not entertaining thoughts of going back to the, as he so eloquently described, “maggot infested market” for at least a good while.

They enjoyed the tranquility of the garden for a stretch, the laidback chirping of the birds around the area and the soft rustling of leaves in the afternoon breeze calming their senses and refreshing their minds.

“Let’s review,” Now feeling more lucid, Jack felt comfortable enough to hold decent conversation with Bunnymund. “North managed to trace the tooth fairy – er, Tooth, was it? – to this town. It seemed that her fairies were last seen around the area collecting teeth…what, about fifty years ago?” While it was nice to relax after gallivanting all over town, Jack still could not shake the nagging feeling that something about this whole find-the-tooth-fairy-before the witch-does business was off.

Very off.

Jack also did not miss the maelstrom of expressions that flitted across Bunnymund’s face during the peaceful interlude; a stark contrast against the charming serenity of their surroundings. It was as if he was struggling to wade through a storm of troubling thoughts, only to get a little reprieve when he reached the eye of the storm before getting sucked back into churning murky waters.

“Therein’ lies the problem,” Bunnymund replied after some time, frowning. “Everyone we’d questioned either shook their heads _casually_ or shrugged _with indifference_ when we asked for her last known whereabouts.”

Jack raised a questioning eyebrow. “What’s so strange about that? I assumed they simply couldn’t remember where they had last seen her or her fairies. After all, fifty years is a long time and they have their own lives to live.”

“Keep in mind,” Bunnymund began warily, rubbing his forehead as he felt the first stirrings of a real wing-ding of a headache coming on. “Tooth and her fairies collect children’s teeth and give them pennies in return. _Every night_.”

He paused to let the solemnity of the last two words resonate between them.

“Everyone knows that, humans and magical beings alike. Don’t you find it a bit iffy that _nobody_ was concerned why they hadn’t seen hide or hair of a _Legend_ , or her fairies, _for the last fifty years?_ ”

Jack furrowed his eyebrows in thought, before his eyes slowly widened at the underlying implications. “Surely if they suddenly stopped doing their jobs, _someone_ would have noticed something amiss after all this time?”

 _In fact, shouldn’t the children over the last fifty years be among the first to realise something was terribly wrong if their teeth weren’t collected_ every night _?_

Bunnymund finished off Jack’s thoughts with a grim look. “…s _o why haven’t they?_ ”

 

~~\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------~~

 

“…Do you think they’re dead?”

Consciousness came rushing back to Jack, along with a resounding throb at the back of his head. Someone was leaning over him.

A second voice came. “Don’t think so. Old Granny Tilly, may the _Heavens_ bless her soul, was blue when she was found.”

“Ugh…,” Jack moved a hand to his head as the shadows around him withdrew. He felt something stir beside him, but could not bring himself to care at the moment.

The second voice spoke again. “Told you they weren’t dead.”

Jack finally got the strength to open his eyes, squinting into what seemed like light from a lamp post. “Uh, where am I?”

As his vision cleared, he saw two very short bearded men dressed in worker clothes, one with a spade over his shoulder. A wheelbarrow rested behind them, another spade within.

The two men looked at each other, then back at him.

“This ‘ere be the town of Dawnfords, part of the lands of Silver Apple Farm, lad,” Seeing Jack’s blank look, the first man continued. “Near the Temple of the Lady, about a day and a half from Bouldergate Hold.”

Jack started to shake his head, then thought better of it as his vision started to blur. “Except for the first one, I don’t recognise any of those names, sir.”

The man snorted. “Sir, he calls me? Like I’m some landed gentry? Name’s Groter, boy,” he shrugged towards the other man, “This ‘ere be Bhamor. What’s a scrawny thing like you doin’ out ‘ere after sunset? Run away from home with yer pet rabbit?”

At the words “pet rabbit”, the thing still in the midst of stirring spluttered indignantly and sat up ramrod straight instantly, long ears flattened and whiskers taut.

_Wait…long ears and whiskers?_

**_“Who are yer callin’ ‘pet rabbit’, ya larrikins?! I am E. Aster Bunnymund, the Easter Bunny!”_ **

_Ah, right…Bunnymund._

It took one bated moment for Jack’s sleepy brain to catch up with reality.

 _Hang on…Bunnymund is shouting at two men…two_ human _men and-_ OH CRUD.

“So yer be the Easter Bunny, eh? Nice meetin’ yer.”

“Aye, it’s not every day yer got to see a _Legend_ in ‘e flesh. Funny, I thought ye’d be taller.”

“Long story, dwarfs. Don’t ask.”

Jack suddenly felt as if he was the only actor in a surrealist theatre play who had not been given the script. There was a pointed pause as his brain once again tried to process developments that tend to border on a fine line between the bizarre and outright insanity.

“Ah, seems ‘e lad has decided to join us, eh?” The man– dwarf…who identified himself as Groter stroked his beard sagely as he gave Jack a glance-over. “I must say, I’ve never seen a human with magic before,” Groter sniffed the air lightly. “Hmm, it be one of ‘em rare elemental magicks too. How curious.”

“Never mind all that. Dwarfs, do you know anything about my fellow _Legend_ , Tooth? She’s the tooth fairy. Her fairies work every night collecting teeth from human children across countries and they were last seen around these parts some fifty years ago. You’re nocturnal; surely you must have seen or heard something. ”

 _Oh… that’s it, I remember now. Find Tooth the tooth fairy before the witch enslaves us, doom to us if we fail, and all that._   

Jack massaged his temples as he slowly recalled what had transpired. They had spent the rest of the afternoon poring over the few reliable pieces of information they had gathered to no avail. Trying to figure out what to do with Tooth’s disappearance was even more nerve-wrecking. The only reason why they had not worked themselves into a stressful frenzy was because their stomachs had alerted them to much needed dinner. After tummies were satisfied, they had lain out on the bench to rest. The sun was beginning to set and the fresh late afternoon breezes had been so relaxing and… soothing…

Jack buried his rapidly reddening face in his hands as the knowledge of him _falling asleep in public_ sunk in. If his mother had been around, she would never let him hear the end of it.

“Tooth fairy? Hmm, ‘cept for ‘em nature fae around these parts, don’t think I’d seen nor heard anything about no teeth collecting fairy. What about yer, Bhamor?”

“Can’t say I have,” the other dwarf Bhamor echoed his friend.

Bunnymund’s ears drooped in disappointment as he sat back on his hunches. Jack groaned before flinging his head against the backrest in defeat.

Brilliant, stonewalled again. Not that he should be surprised at this point.

“ _Although…,_ ”Bhamor wrinkled his nose and scratched an apple cheek. 

Bunnymund and Jack perked up at that word which suddenly sounded so much more beautiful to them than it should.

Talk about desperation.

“Since ye be lookin’ for one of ‘em globetrotting fae, maybe ye can try askin’ similar fae folk? I’d heard rumours of sylphs appearing around Silver Apple Farm. Ye know how ‘em air spirits are always wandering across the lands wherever ‘e winds take ‘em and creatin’ those giant misshapen clouds in ‘e skies with ‘em wings.”

“Aye, that they do,” Groter chimed in. “I hear ‘ere be quite a number of ‘em clouds appearin’ in skies above the farm. Ye can try ye luck at ‘ere.”

Jack could feel himself almost vibrate with excitement. This was certainly a very much welcomed windfall, pun not intended.

“Well, we’d best be gettin’ goin’,” Groter declared, hiking up the wheelbarrow. “We’ve got work to be doin’. Good luck on ye quest,” He started back towards the main road.

“Aye, those precious stones and metal don’t mine ‘emselves, ye know,” Bhamor laughed as he followed Groter.

“Wait!” Jack cried, scrambling to his feet. “Does the master of that place still need workers?”

Groter started to laugh. “A scraggy little thing like ye?” he asked. “Ye sure ye ain’t some merchant’s brat who wandered too far from home and met the Easter Bunny by chance?”

“My family were farmers,” Jack protested. “I’ve worked the fields since I could walk.”

Groter hummed in response. “Ye farmhouse is about half hour down this trail. Ye should ask ‘em if they be wantin’ another child in ‘eir care.”

“Aye,” Bhamor nodded. “They may ‘ave their hands full with those boys.”

Jack blinked. “The farmer has kids?”

“Oh _Heavens_ , no,” laughed Groter. “See, he gave ‘ese two stray boys jobs, but they seemed to be more trouble than they’re worth.”

“Ye never know. Maybe they come from another country, or maybe they are just simple-minded folk,” Bhamor scratched his head in thought. “-but they never speak, and always need to be shown what to do and where to go.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“Aye, but for five coppers a day, plus room and board, wouldn’t ye cope with ‘complicated’?” Groter shrugged, then went back to his wheelbarrow and started to push it away.

“Thanks Misters!” Jack called gratefully as they walked away, then turned and marched out of town, down towards the farmhouse.

It was Bunnymund’s turn to raise an eyebrow at Jack as he hopped alongside. “Why did you need to know if that farm had any job openings?”

“Because, my furry friend,” Jack looked down and waggled his eyebrows. “Since it’ll take some time for us to ask around the magical beings living there _and_ search for those air spirits _and_ look for possible leads to Tooth’s disappearance, we’ll need a place to stay in the meantime. What better way to do all four at once than to get a job on the farm?”

Jack iced his soles and put on an extra burst of speed, skating expertly down the beaten path like he had done many times before. With any luck, he should be able to reach the farmhouse in less than ten minutes.

“Ah, I see,” Bunnymund was impressed. This would definitely make searching for the sylphs a _lot_ easier. Fancy the show-pony for having thought this through. “Then I say we’d better hurry. It’s almost night fall and I for one don’t want to be fending off night predators.”

As they hurried down the dirt path, the orange-gold wheat fields gave way to vegetables and ploughed fields, then finally to the orchards that gave the farm part of its name. (Jack still had trouble figuring out where the “Silver” part came from.) Jack thought he saw figures twining in the branches, picking out ripe apples as he passed, then he found the farmhouse.

 

~~\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------~~

 

The “farmhouse” was actually a collection of buildings arranged in a horseshoe formation. There were bunkhouses and a bathhouse on one side, the long farmhouse opposite, and the barn and stables formed the back wall of the yard.

The sounds and smells brought everything back to Jack. He closed his eyes, let out a shuddering breath, and he was home. _His mother was running out of the hut, her hands dusty with flour, to wrap her arms around him and say it was all a mistake, his sister jumping into the hug tearily and making him promise  to never ever run away again…_

“What are you doing here, boy? Clear off!”

Jack’s eyes flew open to see, if possible, an old man even more grumpy-looking than Bunnymund standing on the house porch. If he had noticed Jack’s unusual appearance, he did not give any indication otherwise. He shook himself up mentally and braced for his best oh-woe-is-me performance.

“Please, sir,” he called back. “I’m looking for the master of this farm.”

The man paused. “You talk, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Jack smiled. “When need be.” An incredulous snort erupted from behind his head as Bunnymund tried to muffle his wheezing. Jack made a mental note to freeze his button nose off when he had the chance.

The man harrumphed gruffly. “Less of your cheek, boy. I be the master of Silver Apple Farms. What do you want with me?”

Jack moved closer so that he did not need to shout across the yard. “I wanted to ask if there was a job.”

“You done much farm work?”

Jack puffed out his chest. “My family owned a small farm. I’ve been working in the fields and herding sheep ever since I can remember.”

The master looked suspicious. “So why aren’t you working there now, lad?”

“…There was a horrible blizzard…we lost almost everything…,” Jack started, putting on his best pair of sorrowful puppy-dog eyes.  No way was he going to admit he had to leave because of an internal conflict of interest in his village. He ignored the soft gagging sounds from Bunnymund when he willed a little tear trickle.

The master considered this for a while. “How do you feel about babysitting? I’ve these two lads, strong as anything, but they’re…there’s something wrong with them.” He ran a tired hand through his comb over. “They don’t understand simple instructions and they have to be shown what to do all the time. You’ll have to watch them.”

Jack thought about it for a moment. _I don’t know if I should agree, but it would mean a job, money, shelter and food. Besides, they can’t be asked to do any really complicated stuff. Not to mention we still need to look for those sylphs and time isn’t on our side. Decisions, decisions, decisions…_

“Okay, I agree, Mister…?”

“Jesper, lad. You got a name?”

“Jackson Overland of Hawthorne Village.”

Jesper stroked his chin. “I remember that place somehow attracts snowstorms…,” he shrugged. “Anyway, I’ll show you to your bunk and you rest up for tonight. Tomorrow, go out into the fields and find Earl. He’s the foreman, he’ll sort you out.” He looked at Jack sternly and for one second, Jack thought he was staring at the older male version of his mother. “Follow the rules, and I’ll have no quarrel with you working here. Break them, and you’ll be out of here so fast your grandkids’ heads will spin.”

Jack grinned and saluted, “Yes, sir!” before racing off towards the bunkhouses, a mildly withered Bunnymund safely hidden in his hood in tow.

“Do I really want to know where you learn how to put on such phony theatrics? Don’t think I’d ever seen more bogus crocodile tears anywhere else.”

“Ah, ah, ah, Cottontail,” Jack wagged a mischievous finger in front of Bunnymund’s snout. “An artiste never reveals his secrets.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Researching (and trolling) fantasy creatures had been a blast, so here's a beastology list of all the fantasy creatures that were mentioned or made an appearance:
> 
> Troll: A giant brutish humanoid creature that usually lives far from human habitation. Depending on the region from which a troll hails from, its appearance and intelligence level can vary greatly; trolls may be ugly and slow-witted, or look and behave exactly like human beings. The one thing in common across all trolls, however educated they may be, is the sore lack of basic dress sense and grooming etiquette. 
> 
> Brownie: A small hardworking humanoid creature usually dressed in horrendously rancid drab browns, though some have been known to be as tall as human children. It is said to inhabit houses in small groups and aid in tasks around the house. Just don’t expect them to do all the housework for you for free, or they may take off and dump their “clothes” among your clean laundry in protest. 
> 
> Nature fae: Fairies tied to nature, usually taking on various characteristics of their element. In this chapter, Jack and Bunnymund met one typical example of a flower fairy. These fae, like their flower counterparts trying too hard to attract insects, behave similarly in the presence of humans. They are often theorized to be possible ancestors (many times removed) of the modern day used car sales personnel and annoyingly clingy date partners. 
> 
> Pixie: A generally benign fairy-like creature, minus the wings. Mischievous, short of stature and attractively childlike; pixies can often be found in areas with bits of human finery. For some strange reason, they are also drawn to horses, riding them for pleasure and making tangled ringlets in the manes of those horses they ride. 
> 
> Goblin: The more smartly dressed, yet vulture-like and greedy cousin of the brownie. The infamous Rumpelstiltskin is the very model of what a goblin does with its life. If you come across a person who looks suspiciously like a goblin, you’d better come prepared with exceptionally deep pockets. 
> 
> Bookworm: Bunnymund had pretty much summed up the bookworm with a pretty pink bow. Hope that your favourite comics, manga and other literary works don’t end up as its lunch. Otherwise, you’ll be faced with miniature, yet extremely obese versions of your favourite fiction characters once the bookworm had digested the pictures and words. 
> 
> Wood sprite: This small possum-like rodent is the more cautiously neurotic variant of the lemming. It only throws itself off low branches, and even then the end of its tail would be wrapped tightly around the branch; hence, the bungee. You can say they are the connoisseurs of the art of very careful bungee-jumping. 
> 
> Mortling: Similar to wood sprites, the mortling is an even smaller, though exponentially more reckless variant of the lemming. Natural thrill seekers of the stupid kind, it is always coming up with questionable ways to throw itself into further distances from clifftops. How it manages to survive a several hundred storeys jump every time is anybody’s guess. Kudos to you if you can spot the Dreamworks character that inspired the mortling.
> 
> Dwarf: A short and stout being that dwells in mountains and in the earth, but has been known to live among humans as well. It is variously associated with wisdom, smithing, mining, and crafting. Dwarfs usually start their mining activities late at night to avoid the prying eyes of possible spies trying to steal their haul for the night. (They would be too tired trying to keep their eyes opened, let alone peeled on the spoils.)
> 
> Sylphs: Air spirits, or fairies of the air as some call them, that follow the winds. Sylphs are also considered to be nature fae, since they represent the element of air. They frequently create columns of supposedly artistic clouds in the skies with their wings, though to everyone else their cloud sculptures looked like peculiar mishmashes of fluff and poof.


	9. First Day on the Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack takes to his first day on the job like a rabbit to carrot, he relives a bit of history lesson, and Bunnymund's just along for the ride. Literally.
> 
> Searching for the sylphs won't be easy, especially when Jack has to babysit two mysterious brothers and watch out for creeps. Then again, when some more revelations were made know by Bunnymund, he had to ask himself - when had Life ever made things easy for him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I use British English, so certain words will take on a different way of spelling. Like “color” vs. “colour”, “realize” vs. “realise”, and “practice” vs. “practise”. On a side note, I use “practice” when referring to the noun form. =P
> 
> ...and here's my surprise! A new, much longer chapter (a total of 5827 words) as a X'mas (or X'mas Eve according to AO3) present to all you amazing readers out there! 8D 
> 
> Merry Christmas, everybody, and a Happy New Year!

Earl, as it turned out, had a physique that rivaled the troll arms master. Though he was bent over to weed one of the beet fields, he was nearly as tall as Jack standing. Jack could tell that this was an old farmhand from the way he held himself. He seemed to move very little, as if to conserve energy for other activities. He also worked at a steady pace; not too quickly so that he would tire, or so slow that the master of the farm would accuse him for not pulling his weight.

Jack briefly wondered whether Earl was simply just a better disguised troll.

After thanking a worker for pointing out Earl, he approached slowly and stood directly in his line of sight.

“Um, sir?”

Earl calmly finished his section before looking up. He gave Jack an unnervingly silent onceover, taking in his white locks and pale complexion for some time. “Aye, lad?”

Jack shuffled nervously, thinking of the tales the village elders had told him of giants from the mountains that ate single travelers. No need for any of his superb acting skills here, his apprehension is very _real_. “Mister Jesper sent me. Said my job was to watch over the other boys and that I should report to you for orders.” He swallowed as Earl rose to his full height and loomed over him. He thought he heard Bunnymund squeaked feebly from the depths of his hood.

 _How could someone so_ quiet _appear so menacing at the same time?_

Earl folded his arms. “Now, lad, I’m not as bad as that. The _Heavens_ made me tall, but made me kind and fair, just as you were made small and wiry. That’s why I got this job. I may look fierce, but I’m nice enough.”

Jack did not trust his own voice, so he nodded instead.

 “So,” Earl continued. “If you’re to work with those boys, I guess you better know that they don’t speak. At least, not so as we can hear them.” He shrugged lightly.

“We call them ‘The Brothers’. Only the _Heavens_ know if they’re related or not, but they look similar enough. That’s about the only word they seem to understand too.” Earl gestured wordlessly towards the apple orchards before marching off in large strides. Jack hastily chased after him. “They’re quick enough to pick up something if you show them, but you can’t tell them anything. They just don’t get it.”

Jack nodded thoughtfully, picking up his pace. “So…I just need to keep an eye out in case they start to do things wrong?”

“Aye. Keep an eye on them out of work too. They seem to forget how the week goes, but they understand where their bunk is and what to do at meals. You’ll be looking after them then too.” They stopped in front of fenced gates that led into impressive rows of apple trees as far as the eye can see.

“They’re up in the trees picking apples today.” Earl turned around to pin Jack with an intense stare. Although the only person in this world who scares Jack is his mother, Earl comes in a very close second. “ _Only ripe ones, mind_. Last time they were checked, those boys were just picking up all the apples they could find.”

He turned to face the opposite direction and pointed at the yard. “At midday, go into the yard. There’ll be a table set up with some food for the workers at the farm. Rest o’us all took our lunches with us. I’ll come get you at the end of the work day, find you a place to sleep and explain the rest.”

Jack smiled. “Okay. Got it, sir.”

Earl cracked a smile back. “And don’t let those boys confuse you…um…What’s your name, lad?”

“Jackson Overland. Jack for short.”

“Jack, right. So go be busy, else old man Jesper won’t feed you tonight.” He winked at Jack.

Jack grinned crookedly at him. “Yes sir!” He started off into the orchard.

Earl watched him go for a while, then shook his head sympathetically. “That boy will soon learn that those boys are nothing to be happy about. Trouble, the both of them.”

 

                                                                            ~~\----------------------------------------~~

 

The whole apple orchard felt too still as Jack ventured deeper.  Leaves swayed gently in the breeze, the alluring aroma of crisp, juicy apples ready for picking hovered in the air and nearly made Jack’s mouth water, but there was no sound other than that of nature. There were also no boys visible for miles around.

The eerie silence was broken when Jack heard some muffled rasping behind him. Bunnymund gasped loudly as he popped his head out of the suffocating hood for air, gulping in much needed air.

“Thy fair Sleeping Beaunny hath awoken, I see?”

“Belt up, Frostbite,” Bunnymund growled, twisting and turning to loosen up the mouth of Jack’s hood while Jack snickered. “I _knew_ Shakespeare, so don’t you go quoting his waffle." Immediate constrictions dealt with, he settled back into a relatively comfortable position with a satisfied sigh.

“Now that we’re alone for a bit, let’s work that nose of yours. Smell any sylphs nearby?”

Bunnymund raised his snout and gave a tentative sniff. Jack had to admit the string of sniffling and grunting that followed sounded almost … _adorable_. He also did not mind how Bunnymund had his fore paws perched behind his head to bring himself higher to sniff the air better. It almost felt like an accidental massage, with the hint of claw.

Bunnymund descended back into the hood, looking troubled. “No good. There’s air magic _everywhere._ There’re definitely other magical creatures around, but the scents are too muddled to pinpoint their exact location. This…could complicate things.”

“Well, I guess our only option for now is to rely on my dazzling acting skills and natural charm around here, eh?” Jack grinned smugly at Bunnymund, who returned with a look similar to a wilted cod.      

“You sure you know what you’re doing? I can’t show myself around a human farm, so you’ll need to do all the…sweet-talking,” Bunnymund scrunched up his face in disgust at his choice of words. “…around here.”

“Relax, Cottontail, I got this so you might want to duck back in. Can’t afford to get kicked out just after landing a job now, can we?” Jack reached behind and tapped Bunnymund’s head lightly with his shepherd’s crook. Bunnymund uttered an indignant “Oi!” and swatted at Jack’s nape in a huff before squirming deeper into his hood, his furry tips of his ears just a peep visible.

“Uh, hello?” called Jack, wandering further into the apple orchard.

_Do they even know ‘hello’?_

“Anyone around? Hello?” Jack deliberately drawled out the last syllable. “Brothers?”

Jack heard an unexpected distant giggle.

“I heard that!” he called back, moving towards the sound. “You should be working, not playing hide-and-go-seek!”

Another giggle sounded, this time from behind a tree to his right.

Jack advanced stealthily towards the tree, then darted around it quickly to catch them. “AH…ha?”

There was no one.

_I see now what the dwarfs meant by “complicated”._

Suddenly, the ground disappeared from under his feet as two pairs of reedy yet strong arms grabbed him and hoisted him up into the branches of the tree. Jack found himself resting on a branch with his arms held by the strangest of people.

As he looked left and then right, two similar-looking pointed faces greeted him. Both have piercing silvery blue eyes; one pair twinkling, the clear source of the giggles, the other serious and slightly guarded. The brothers were identically clad in alternating shades of grey and white, with simple scarves tied around their heads, covering their ears, to secure their white blond hair.

Jack looked down at the ground, then back at them. He was vaguely aware of Bunnymund’s subdued wheezing that bordered dangerously on hyperventilation coming from his hood.

_Wonderful, just what I needed. Cottontail’s fear of heights acting up, and there’s nothing I can do about it!_

Trying to shift himself inconspicuously closer to the tree trunk (it’s not solid ground, but at least it’s something _solid_ ) in an effort to calm Bunnymund down, Jack focused his attention squarely on the boys to avoid arousing any suspicions. “Brothers, I take it?”

The smiling boy nodded and pointed at one of the apples, then at the basket at the foot of the tree.

_Ah, so they do remember what they’re supposed to be doing after all. They just wanted to play a little game. Not that I’ve a problem; I just hope it doesn’t involve scaring the living daylights out of either Bunnymund or me._

Jack shuffled more securely onto the branch. “That’s right,” he replied encouragingly, grinning in an exaggerated fashion.

The other boy scowled a little, and as he tilted his head, Jack saw a white blond ponytail hanging down his back. His brother had much shorter hair, also with the same white blonde colour and sheen.

_Huh. Tough crowd._

Jack pointed at himself. “Jack.”

The shorthaired smiling brother pointed at him too. “Jack,” he confirmed in a soft and wispy voice.

He then pointed at himself. “Cirrus,” then at his brother, “Cirro.” The other just kept scowling. He folded his arms moments later, seemingly unworried about the drop beneath him. Cirrus shrugged at this, then went back to apple picking. “Apple.” He dropped it into the basket below. “Basket. More.” He turned to Jack for vindication.

Jack blinked. “Eh, right. Apples in the basket.” He looked down again. “Uh, I…think I’ll go work on the lower branches.” Jack lowered himself deftly off the branch and started plucking apples.

Cirro turned to his brother and spoke softly, so softly that even if Jack had been next to them, he would not have heard them. _“_ _Do you want him to realise our idiocy is an act?”_

Cirrus shrugged and started to climb up the tree soundlessly. “ _We need to learn their speech somehow_ ,” he replied just as quietly.

 _“_ _Idiot,”_ murmured Cirro.

 _“_ _No fun,”_ Cirrus chuckled.

As Jack worked his way onto an adjacent branch, a pair of fluffy ears poked out of his hood and twitched knowingly, followed by a pair of penetrating green eyes that monitored the brothers’ every move.

 

                                                                                              ~~\----------------------------------------~~

 

“Something’s definitely strange about those two,” Jack whispered to Bunnymund several trees later. “I know I’m not one to talk, what with me being Jack Frost and all, but…how should I put this…?”

“I know what you mean,” Bunnymund muttered back under his breath. “They’re up there somewhere, but I never hear them move.”

A thud signaled another apple joining the rapidly filling basket.

“ _You_ didn’t hear them move? With those big ears?” Jack replied incredulously. “They must be exceedingly light on their feet.” Another thud punctuated the stillness. “They could be foreigners. They don’t understand _Common_ , that’s all. They certainly aren’t as stupid as everyone made them out to be.”

“We’ll talk later,” Bunnymund concluded abruptly, snuggling back into the hood just as Cirro swung nimbly out of the tree to land silently besides Jack. He tossed a few apples into the basket and looked up. Cirrus, who looked at Jack as though expecting something, quickly joined them.

“What?” Jack swiped a few more apples off the branches with the help of his shepherd’s crook and slid them into the basket.

Cirro pointed at the sky.

Jack gave a blank stare in response.

_What did he mean?_

Jack looked up. Clear azure skies with white clouds wafted languidly by, which meant rain was unlikely. He also heard sporadic intervals of birds twittering and chirping cheerily, but could not find any flying over the orchards. 

_No sign of any strange cloud formation either. Maybe the sylphs are on break?_

Cirro rolled his eyes.

“Midday,” Cirrus helpfully supplied while avoiding Cirro’s gaze.

Jack slapped his forehead. “Right. Food. I forgot.” He took Cirrus' hand and reached out for Cirro’s, but the boy jerked away, glaring.

“Okay, okay, no need to get so testy. Just follow, yea?” sighed Jack, leading them back to the farmhouse. “Boy, am I starving!”

Turning into the yard, Jack saw a long trestle table set up with plates of bread, cheese and fruit. Several people were milling about making merry, spooning bowls of gruel into their mouths and guzzling down jugs of apple cider and ale. As soon as Jack and the brothers stepped into the yard threshold, every head turned towards the newcomers.

Jack gave a crooked grin and waved. “Hi. I’m here to help with the harvest.”

Cirrus and Cirro drifted forward awkwardly to the food, keeping their heads down.  

“Aww look,” crowed one of the workers. “He’s got to take care of the lil’ darlings. I guess them blondies got to stick together, eh?” That earned a round of snickers among his passé.

Cirrus blushed wildly while Cirro moved to brush his arm lightly. It did not go unnoticed by Jack. “They’re not that bad.”

That comment seemed to amuse all the men greatly.

The brothers quickly moved away, clutching some food like they were afraid someone would snatch it from them. Jack watched them go sit under the shade of the barn, where they tried not to draw attention. Jack looked pensively back and forth between the brothers and the table, frowning as some workers threw around quips about the brothers that did not sit well with Jack.

Nor did they with Bunnymund, if the guttural yowl was any indication. Mind made up, he gathered his own share of food and picked up a pitcher of ale.

_I prefer the brothers’ company anyway, even though they don’t talk. Much._

Jack walked resolutely over to the brothers, ignoring the flabbergasted and disapproving stares directed at him from the table, and sat down. They both looked just as shocked. Jack could not help but feel as if he was intruding into something, so he tried to bluff it out.

“Hey, you forgot this,” Jack said sheepishly, holding up the pitcher and putting it between them. The brothers kept staring at him.

“You know, you guys are pretty quiet when you want to be. You don’t speak, or laugh, or make noises when you’re in the trees…how did you do that?”

Cirrus looked down and started tearing pieces off his lump of bread. Cirro continued to stare at Jack. Hard.

Jack sighed and started to eat, enjoying the fact that he was able to eat another full meal since meeting North and Bunnymund.

_Guess they’re just quiet people. Quiet, but not simple. Wonder why Cirro glares at me so?_

Jack looked up to find Cirrus staring at the sky, eating an apple.

_Maybe they didn’t like how everyone treated them, but that would mean they understood more than they are revealing._

Jack chanced a fleeting glimpse at Cirro. He had yet to touch his food, still engaged in that slightly unsettling stare.

 _…Come to think of it, I’ve never even_ heard _Cirro’s voice. I guess it must be similar to Cirrus’._

As he took a bite out of his slice of bread and cheese, he observed the brothers carefully. Both boys looked very similar, so it stood to reason that they had to be actual blood brothers. If it was not for the hair and the fact that Cirro never smiles, there would be no difference.

 _Does Cirro even_ know _how to smile?_

Jack paused as something clicked.

_Wow, Cottontail. I think I’ve met your match in grumpiness._

Mentally filing that discovery away for future use, Jack took his share of the ale, then sat back and looked at the sky himself, listening to the whispers of air.

 

                                                                            ~~\----------------------------------------~~

 

 _“In the fore times, there was nothing. Not earth nor sky, not sea nor creatures. From this nothingness came_ The Three Gods _,_ Ularr _,_ Mithrasil _, and_ Ymir _. With_ Ularr _came darkness, light and the_ Heavens _; with_ Mithrasil _came the earth, the seasons and all the creatures that live upon it; with_ Ymir _came_ The Cycle of Life _and the_ Balance _._

 _This world saw the passing of the years, but together the Gods grew weary of the simplicity of the world._ Mithrasil _turned to the creatures of the land and saw how they had harnessed their innate powers of_ Mithrasil _to help with their daily lives._ He _took the wisest among the creatures and from them fashioned the_ First-ones. _They were commanded to go forth and create the races of the_ Magi-folk.

 _Over the passage of time,_ The Three Gods _brought forth more successors in the form of T_ he Lesser Gods _._ The Lady Tatiana _,_ Baeynar the Hunter, Seamus the Wise, Novthar the Just, _and many others; all who’d lead the_ Magi-folk _with all the wisdom and grace of_ The Three Gods _._

 _However, there were those among the_ Magi-folk _, brilliant yet greedy, who had turned from them all and fashioned themselves into false gods. Many times_ The Three Gods _pleaded with these people to come back to_ Them _, and each time they chose to forsake_ Them _as times grew rough.._.

 _Finally,_ They _had no choice but to abandon them in their heathen ways. These_ Magi-folk _were cast to_ World’s End, _a place so remote and desolate it sucked away all the happiness and joy of the world; a reminder of how they heard but did not listen to their_ Will _. Enraged, the four most powerful among these_ Magi-folk _declared war against_ The Three Gods. They _rode into battle and decimated countless_ Magi-folk _armies of_ The Three Gods _, each a match to_ The Lesser Gods.

_Lands were torn asunder and oceans poisoned and rotten. The skies turned blood red and the mountains completely leveled into non-existence. The very air you breathed choked with the stench of death and decay, and the suffering and destruction continued to spread like a disease._

_Such was the frightening brutality of the four beings that came to be known as_ The Four Horsemen.  Wrath, _the bloodthirsty warmonger who rode on a red horse and brought bloodshed and slaughter;_ Gloom, _the oracle of aggravated mental distress and mourning who rode on an ashen horse and left a trail of utter despair and anguish;_ Plague, _the archer riding on an oily black horse whose poisoned arrows contained the germs of all fatal and infectious diseases;_ Death, _the frosty white personification of eternal damnation, he roamed the lands snuffing out lives with his bitter scythe to feed his horse, whose jaws were always opened to receive his slain victims_.  

 _Years passed, and finally_ The Three Gods _and_ The Lesser Gods _were victorious. Defeated,_ The Four Horsemen _slinked back to_ World’s End _and stayed in whatever cesspool they had emerged from, along with the last battered remnants of their army. The rest of the_ Magi-Folk _also disappeared from the battle torn grounds, never to be heard from again. It is said that_ The Lesser Gods _had created another haven where the few remaining_ Magi-Folk _lived to this very day in peace and harmony, away from the ever-changing world._

 _The second time_ Mithrasil _created a race to follow_ The Three Gods and their kin, He _did not look to the_ Magi-Folk, _for_ _those who had thought themselves_ Gods _for the protection they lent to the creatures of the land served as a grim reminder to_ The Three Gods _._ He _looked to the earth itself, which was humble and strong. Out of the clay of the_ Earth, He _formed the_ Second-Ones _,_ Humans, _removing all traces of_ His _magic from them_.

 _Following_ The Three Gods’ _will, they harnessed the lands and toiled the earth with their very own hands._ The Three Gods _and_ The Lesser Gods _continued to smile on them, as they offered praises and kept the rituals commanded to_ Them. _Now we have_ Their _favour, and_ They _continue to smile on us as we keep the rituals…_

                                                                            ~~\----------------------------------------~~

Huet, one of the more senior farmhands, took a long draw of his pipe before continuing his tale. “That’s why every harvest, a portion of what we take from the fields is given to The Three Gods, for Them to share amongst Their kin, as we were told to do, and why the fields give us their bounty as we ourselves came from the dust and earth ourselves.” His hand moved to the token around his neck. “We know these truths as passed from Them.”

Jack clutched his shepherd’s crook tighter. “…Because we’re Their people.”

He released his grip after a while and stretched out on the floor slowly. He had this niggling feeling that Huet’s story was somehow reminiscent of… _something…_ like it was right under his nose but he could not quite grasp the relation just yet. He made a mental note to discuss this with Bunnymund later that night.

“I’ve heard the story of how we came to be several times, but never in those words before.”

Huet shuffled in his seat, trying to restore his thoughts after the storytelling. “It’s nice to have an appreciative audience once in a while,” he nodded towards the brothers. “They seem to listen, like they were told to, but there’s no understanding there. It’s been a long time since I heard the Response.”

Jack grinned impishly. “Back in my village when I was a kid, when all of us listened to Old Man Lee, he’d clip us around the ears if we didn’t say it.”

“Heh,” Huet took another leisure draw before blowing a ring of smoke. “Sometimes a good clip around the ear works better than anything else.”

Jack nodded and stretched again, enjoying the feeling of being clean. Earl had kept his word and showed him the drafty hut that served as sleeping quarters, giving him a bed near the two that the brothers had dragged together to sleep in. Jack had also secretly made a makeshift nest for Bunnymund under his bed with some of the spare linen sheets lying in a drawer. How he and Bunnymund were going to find time to discuss their own findings was something he had yet worked out.  

Jack was relieved to find a hearth in the quarters, as he was still wary his ice powers might decide to kick start themselves. At least the heat from a hearth will keep the ice at bay, lowering the chances of him freezing everything in sight. He was also glad to find out that one of the buildings served as a bathhouse for the farmhands, and that they were expected to clean the dust from the fields off themselves before sitting for dinner, which would again be set out in the yard.

Jack had finally found out that it was Middle Day, and that workers were not allowed to leave the farm except for Rest Day, when many of them went back to Dawnsford town to visit the market and spend the meagre coppers they had earned.  Jack winced as his movements brushed against his dirty clothes, and promised himself that the first thing he would buy was a spare new tunic.

A spare new _clean_ tunic.

He looked up as Cirro shifted closer, pulling Cirrus with him. A moment later, a group of workers came into the quarters, and their leader stopped to glare at Huet and Jack. Jack recognised the leader as the jerk who had called them “blondies”. He could also feel the rumbled beginnings of a growl from Bunnymund as the leader swaggered through the door.

“Why do you bother with those idiots? They don’t understand what you say to them, and they certainly don’t understand your stories, old man.”

“Maybe, replied Huet, striking a match to relight his pipe. “But I don’t tell stories so they understand. I tell them because they must be told.”

“Humph,” the man shot a disgusted look at the brothers. “Simpletons like them should’ve been drowned at birth, otherwise they’re a burden to all.”

Cirrus looked down to hide his face and Cirro drew closer to him, glaring at the man.

Jack balled his fist around his shepherd’s crook again.  “They aren’t simple, and they certainly have feelings just like you do.”

The man shook his head. “They don’t understand what I’m saying, they don’t appreciate you looking after them, and they don’t understand you sticking up for them.”

Jack had worse jabs thrown in his face. Three years’ worth of travels had armed him with a tongue sharper than housewives who love giving their husbands good tongue-lashings, so Jack merely raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Funny, I don’t remember passing by any funeral corteges on my way from Dawnsford yesterday. I would have remembered the person who died and made you boss of the farm.” The subsequent snort from Huet and grunts that sounded suspiciously like stifled sniggers from Bunnymund proved that he had not lost his touch.

The man’s eyes widened with red tempered anger as he flared his nostrils. He clenched and unclenched his fists as if debating whether he should box Jack’s ears. Huet chose that moment to level a cautionary glare at him, the rings of smoke puffed calculatingly slow from his lips the only warning the man was going to get. He eventually decided to settle for a roll of the eyes. “Sure.” He strode into the workers’ quarters, his gaggle of minions hot on his heels.

Huet sighed heavily. “That Mayhew always causes trouble, but never enough to get kicked out.”

“That’s not fair.”

Huet shrugged. “That’s life, boy. Just make sure that the brothers don’t get into trouble, or Mayhew’ll use his influence to get them kicked out.”

 

                                                                            ~~\----------------------------------------~~

 

“I oughta pound that Mayhew fella in the breadbasket. If I were my full size, I’ll give that gasbag such a creaming he won’t be able to tell the difference between his knackers and roadside gibbers!”

“ _Shhh! Do you_ want _to get caught?!”_ Jack chided Bunnymund in a harsh whisper.

They were currently crouching among some bushes behind Jack’s quarters. Having been unable to work out a way to converse in their quarters without alerting others to Bunnymund’s presence, Jack decided the best place to do so was outside.

“Say Cottontail, Groter and Bhamor mentioned that there’s been some strange cloud activity on this farm, but-”

“My name is _Bunnymund_!” Bunnymund cut in, almost hissing. “Get that through your thick skull!”

“-I haven’t seen anything that suggests so all day,” Jack continued, conveniently ignoring Bunnymund’s near seething rage. The hush that followed, peppered only by Bunnymund’s faint grumbling about “show ponies”, grew slightly apprehensive as Jack gave his observations some due thought.

“You don’t suppose that…the sylphs have taken off somewhere else, do you?”

Bunnymund considered Jack’s concerns.

“I haven’t seen anything either, but I don’t think they’ve left.” He paused to give an acute sniff of the air. “They’re still around. I can’t pinpoint where since the scent’s spread throughout the farm, but they’re _definitely_ still here.”  

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“Don’t count your googies just yet, Frostbite. While you were working the apple trees this afternoon, I was in the fields asking about Tooth. No more than what we got in Dawnsford – bunch of jibber, not enough jabber.”

 “Which means our best bet is still those sylphs.”

“Right, so keep your eyes peeled for strange clouds. We’ll get them,” Bunnymund said with hopeful determination. Jack nodded evenly.

Jack swept a glance towards the mountains. The sun was dipping past the mountains, turning evening into gradual twilight.

“You also mentioned something this morning about not hearing the brothers move in the trees?” Jack decided to hasten some of the day’s highlights along. If he was not in his sleeping quarters by sunset, Jesper will have his head.

Quite possibly Bunnymund’s, too.  

“How is that even _possible_? Animals that had to be quiet, like lizards and squirrels, make noises. Heck, even a breeze sliver through the leaves would make a noticeable rustle!”

“It’s like I told you, I didn’t hear them move at all! Not a rustle, not a peep, not a hush, not even a puff of breath. It’s as if they were moving like ghosts.” Bunnymund placed a paw under his chin to ponder.

“No _human_ can do that.”

Jack did not miss the insinuations.

“Does that mean the brothers are…magical beings too?” Jack asked in wonderment. It would explain a few things.

_Maybe they are related to Bunnymund. I can see the resemblance between him and Cirro._

“Maybe. They certainly smell human, with traces of sylph air magic about, like all other humans on this farm.”

“In that case, I’ll keep an eye on the brothers. They are definitely hiding something, and it isn’t stealth techniques.”

“You do that. In the meantime, I’ll continue to patrol around the farm to look for clues and gather information from the…less bothersome magical creatures. Something has to turn up soon or later.”

Itinerary for tomorrow decided, the nagging sensation Jack had during Huet’s storytelling chose to make itself known at that moment. Jack could feel it throbbing behind the base of his head.

“…Hey, Bunny?”

“Yeah?”

“About Huet’s story, the one about how humans came to be? I can’t explain it, but I can’t help feeling there’s… _something_ …about it.”

A knowing gleam reflected in verdant orbs. “You should, after all. Judging by the story that Huet fellow told, _we’re a myth_. Not a very accurate myth either.”

Jack tossed Bunnymund a blank stare. “Er…what?”

“The Magi-Folk, as you call them? Magi, as in magical? Magical creatures and beings? Ring any bells?” Bunnymund twisted his body and gave a little hop to emphasis his point.  

Jack blinked as it slowly hit him like a ton of bricks. “ _You? And the magic world? You all are Magi-Folk?”_

Bunnymund winced a little. “Do you have to call us _that_? Then again, you chose the name ‘Humans’ for yourselves, but yes. We’re Magi-Folk.”

 

                                                                            ~~\----------------------------------------~~

 

Jack woke slowly the next morning, the conversation he had with Bunnymund last night leaving him drained. As he looked around the workers quarters, he could see that many of the men had left already, presumably up with the dawn. He turned over to look at where the brothers were preparing themselves silently for the day’s work.

 _Talk about taking the wind out of your sails, Cottontail. I did_ not _see that admission coming._

They had whispered about it some more. As Bunnymund had pointed out, while the story Jack had heard all his life was somewhat accurate, it was a vague historical summary of the magic world. Jack could not help but mentally deck himself; he should have seen the connection between both sooner. The fact that the beings before humans were able to wield magic, the war that no human could possibly survive, how they mysteriously disappeared before humans sprung up from the ground, etc. ; the clues were practically _shoved_ under his nose! 

However, the nagging feeling stubbornly remained. Jack wanted badly to find out more, but Bunnymund was unwilling to divulge any further information.

_“You’ll know in due time.”_

That was Bunnymund’s cryptic answer before he hopped back towards their sleeping quarters, leaving behind a still flummoxed and thoroughly frustrated Jack behind to catch up.

Jack sat up slowly and groaned, rubbing his forehead. Cirrus wandered over to sit on the edge of his bed with a look of concern. Cirro scowled and moved to sit with his brother, tossing his head as if to say “Your fault for not getting any sleep.”

Jack smiled reassuringly and brushed his hand lightly against Cirrus. “I’m okay. First day jitters, still getting used to the place, and all that. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Cirrus smiled back, evidently not about to speak where others might hear and slid off the edge of the bed. Cirro glared once at Jack, then followed his brother. Jack stretched slowly and lethargically.

 _I should_ really _introduce_ _Cottontail to Cirro one of these days._

He reached for the shelf behind his bed and removed his shirt and tunic from it, tugging them over their head. He snuck a peek beneath his bed, only to find an empty nest of sheets. It looked slept in, so Bunnymund must have left before daybreak, presumably to dig for roots and tubers for his breakfast.

 _I hope his breakfast does not involve the farm’s vegetable patches._ Heavens _know how embarrassing that would be if I had to haul him in by the ears to Earl._

Jack moved his hands to his eyes, brushing away the remnants of the eventful night. As his vision cleared, he saw Huet standing at the foot of his bed.

“Now boy, you can’t spend all day lazing about in your bed. We’ve all got work to do.”

Jack grinned and bounced out of his bed. “Okay, okay, I’m up! Just takes me a while to wake up.”

Huet snorted. “You want breakfast, you’d make that bed up quick before Earl comes.” He glared at Jack jokingly and wagged a finger at him. “Otherwise, no food. Old man Jesper is a strange one in his rules, but it keeps order on the farm, so I guess I’ve no real complaint.”

Jack grinned cheekily. “Well if you don’t hurry, you’ll have one complaint. All the others will have eaten and there’ll be none left for you.” He started to fix up his bed.

“Aye, but less of your cheek, Jack,” replied Huet, starting out of the hut. “I’ll get some for you and the brothers too.”

Jack heard a rustling noise and looked up from his work to see Cirrus and Cirro leaning against the wall, seemingly waiting for him. Cirro glared at him the moment they locked gazes.

“Okay, okay! I’m hurrying, geez,”moaned Jack, hurriedly making his bed. After a few moments, he was satisfied with the result and turned back to them. “C’mon, or we won’t get to eat!”

Cirrus looked nervous, then moved to walk just behind Jack, Cirro walking alongside him. Again as they stepped into view, most of the workers turned to stare. Jack flushed hotly, unsure whether it was curiosity over the brothers or pity over his having to watch them that made the workers stare so. He took some bread and fruit and sat at the table to eat. Unsurprisingly, the brothers sat along from him, Cirrus mirroring his movements as he ate.

Unbeknownst to present party, a certain rabbit was crouching among some foliage by the gate that led to the apple orchard; not too far where he could not hear or scrutinize the brothers and Jack, or too near where he might get caught.

_…Is Cirrus worried their disguise is slipping? I’m fairly convinced most of the brothers’ idiocy is an act; one that they drop around Jack. I wonder why?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vocabulary:-
> 
> Middle Day: The day right in the middle of the week, sort of how Wednesday/Thursday is considered Middle Day in our world, depending on when the weekend starts. 
> 
> Rest Day: The day people take a break from work and do their own thing, sort of a weekend day.
> 
>  
> 
> Did I mention how much I find the fact that AO3 no longer has that line break option is very frustrating?
> 
> History has always been one of my weaker subjects. Heck, I barely scrapped through the subject every year, which explains why my head is still spinning from all the history old Huet recited. Coming up with fantasy-sounding names is certainly no small feat either. I'm going to go lie down now.


	10. Conversations and Investigations Afoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gets to know the brothers better, Bunnymund proves how size doesn't matter when it comes to the art of bad-assery, and the plot thickens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all again…after 2 years. 
> 
> Ack, I can’t believe it’s been 2 years since I last touched this fic. So much has happened during that period of time, including major hurdles like changing jobs, the passing on of certain familiar relations, dealing with the grieving process and graduating from in-service courses of hell. 
> 
> Here I am, now at that age where I should be concerned about starting a family of my own, but I’ve never forgotten the period of my life where I devoted myself to the RotG fandom, and I’ve never forgotten what I’ve started and never finished during that time, including this fic.
> 
> This 1st part of this chapter was sitting around my hard drive for the last 2 years, but as time passed and life happened, I lost the motivation to continue. Only recently in a fit of nostalgia and how I’d promised myself to work on my writing if I ever wanted to get published (still do, as a matter of fact), I started entertaining the thought of picking it up again.
> 
> And lo and behold, like a sign, a review (well, 3 actually, along with a couple of kudos) appeared out of nowhere asking whether this fic was still going on. Well, I’m not one to ignore messages from the universe!
> 
> So here it is, my tentative labour of love over the past month. I’m so determined now to conclude this story, even if no one is around anymore to witness it (I still can’t believe I’m getting kudos and reviews for WH after all these years. THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!!!). But whoever does stray upon this humble fic, I do hope you enjoy reading what’s here!
> 
> A/N: I use British English, so certain words will take on a different way of spelling. Like “color” vs. “colour”, “realize” vs. “realise”, and “practice” vs. “practise”. On a side note, I use “practice” when referring to the noun form. 
> 
> An early Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Jack eyed the sacks of grain warily. “Eh…are you sure I can carry those, sir?”

Jack was no stranger to heavy-lifting, having had odd jobs that involved lugging bags and crates of produce on several occasions during his travels. He is quite confident that, despite his wiry frame, he has decent stamina to pull off the usual grunt work around a farm.

Therein lays the operating word “usual”.

As he took in the pile of sacks heaped up like a hay bale, he can’t help but wonder if this was some sort of macabre initiation to newcomers on Silver Apple Farm.

Earl nodded, lifting a sack effortlessly with one hand. “If those brothers can, I’m sure you can too. Just load these onto that,” Earl gestured to a nearby old and battered wheelbarrow. Jack became particularly concerned with the lone rickety wheel; missing spokes, felloes plate nearly rotted through, dents and bumps dotting the surface of the rusty steel tire, the whole vehicle looked like it was, quite literally, on its last leg.

“Take them down to the mill by the river. Fetch the flour the other workers grind back. To and fro all day, got it? Stop to rest when you like, but make sure you get it done by sundown, or old man Jesper’ll not feed you.” Earl grinned at Jack and clapped his shoulders encouragingly. “So get to it, lad. I’ll see you later tonight.” He left the barn, leaving Jack to continue ogling the sacks.

Cirro watched him and snorted.

Jack smirked lightly. “Think you can haul them all, then?”

Cirro raised his chin in defiance, then walked over to the pile and lifted the topmost sack one-handed to rest against his back. He glanced back at a slightly miffed Jack and raised a cocky eyebrow.

“Che,” huffed Jack. “Anything you can do, I can do too.” Taking care to make sure his shepherd’s crook was strapped securely behind him, Jack took the next sack and was surprised that the effort to lift it almost bended him double.

Cirrus laughed, then hoisted his own sack of grain as easily as his brother did.

Jack tried to salvage whatever fragments of pride he had left. “No fair, you got the easy ones.” He started off towards the wheelbarrow, staggering a little until he got used to the weight against his back. After loading as many sacks as possible onto the wheelbarrow without breaking it, Jack maneuvered it carefully onto the main footpath, the brothers trailing behind while carrying the remaining sacks.  

As they walked through the orchard, Jack heard the slight rustle that had plagued him and Bunnymund since they arrived on the farm again behind him. He turned to see Cirro’s lips moving in time with the sound, his face angled slightly towards Cirrus’.

Jack stopped in shock.

“Are you… _talking_?”

Cirro halted, apparently taken aback with Jack’s sudden question, then furrowed his eyebrows in annoyance.

Jack put the wheelbarrow down and looked at them curiously. “Is that your language?”

The brothers looked at each other, communicating silently before Cirrus spoke up.

“Yes, we talk.”

Jack’s eyes sparkled with open amazement. “But you’re so… _quiet_. How can you hear the words?”

Cirrus just shrugged, the movement made lopsided by the sacks he carried. “You shout.”

Cirro’s response was to roll his eyes and strode past Jack.

Jack struggled to lift the wheelbarrow until Cirrus helped him resettle it along the footpath. “Why don’t you speak more? I’m sure the other workers would help you learn.”

“Cirro said no.” Upon hearing his name, Cirro slowed his pace to let them catch up.

“Surely you don’t do everything you’re told? Is it because Cirro’s older?”

Both brothers stare at Jack in bewilderment as his words sank in, before Cirrus doubled over in laughter while Cirro merely snorted derisively.

“I am older,” explained Cirrus in between hiccups. “He should listen, but will not. Bad Cirro,” he wagged his finger at Cirro, which Cirro pointedly ignored, in a copy of how Huet had scolded Jack.

Jack chuckled. “I have a little sister. She can be a handful sometimes, but that’s little siblings for you.”

Cirrus tilted his head slightly. “Why are you not with family?”

At that, Jack’s smile slowly turned bittersweet as he looked at the ground. “I did something…terrible. I didn’t want to burden them, so I left.” He let his bangs obscure his eyes from the brothers, his grip on the wheelbarrow handles tightening a little. “Sorry, I don’t want to talk about it…”

Awkward silence settled among the group, leaving Jack torn between self-consciousness and self-deprecation. Talking about his past had always been a sore spot; territory he dared not venture into even after all this time. It brought about memories and nightmares best left welded into the bottommost depths of his sub-conscience. He may now have beings like Bunnymund whom he can trust implicitly, but that does not mean he is ready to revisit dusty cans of worms.

“…Makes you sad?”

Yet here he is, talking about his _feelings_ with a pair of brothers he barely knew.

_Note to self: swing back here later to collect whatever is left of my lost sense… or any sensibility, for that matter._

Jack nodded. “Sad. And… afraid.”

The silence became charged with specks of unease that emanated from the group. Jack had taken to wringing the wheelbarrow handles until his hands were nearly scrubbed raw. It became hard to breathe, nasty thoughts started slithering across his mind, and his anxiety ratcheted up a notch.

Until he felt a firm, yet soothing hand on his shoulder.

“We can help,” Cirrus supplied with a cautious smile. Cirro scowled back, as if he did not like being volunteered by his brother. Jack stared blankly at the brothers.

“We _will_ help,” Cirrus reaffirmed.

With that note of conviction, the tension that bounded Jack like a Deadman’s noose melted away just as suddenly as it had sprung up. The emotional turmoil left Jack’s head spinning, but Cirrus’ strong grasp on his shoulder and Cirro’s intense swirling silver-blue eyes kept him grounded.

He drew a breath and released it slowly, mentally shaking off the last remnants of oily stress.

“…Thanks,” Jack managed with a tiny smile. He was not sure why, but for the first time in three years Jack actually felt better.

 _Lighter,_ even. _Strange, but it’s a nice kind of strange._

Then without warning, the brothers took off down the path, leaving a still reeling Jack in their wake. After recovering momentarily from the whiplash of events, Jack, now exceedingly vexed, bent over with his head in his hands and groaned about déjà vu.

As he gave his feet and the wheelbarrow a hasty ice-over, taking care to firm up the wheel with sturdier blocks of ice, Jack idly wondered whether elsewhere, people’s lives were just nice and uncomplicated.

* * *

 

Bunnymund’s life is currently, for the most part, not so nice and uncomplicated.

As a matter of fact, he seemed to have gotten into trouble.

Case in point, he was being ensnared by thorny vines and brambles that happily dug into him the more he struggled against them. Normally, he would have no problems freeing himself from simple thorn bushes. Size notwithstanding, his fur is thick enough to protect him from measly scratches and abrasions, his claws sharp enough to slice through vines and carve a way out.

Moreover, as the _Guardian of Hope and Life_ he has a connection with all life forms, especially plant life. Quite the green thumb, his burrow overflows with flower beds bursting with blossoms of delicate hues and vibrant tones, perfuming the air with a waltz of mellow fragrances and bestowing his home with an ethereal glow. 

Sometimes, the flowers speak to him. Like a dozen chiming whispers of a tender song, they would tell him anything ranging from Plant-Care-101 to forgotten secrets of the world.

So far, no amount of coaxing yielded any less than murderous response from the vines; all Bunnymund got were guttural growls and vicious murmurs unlike any plant he had spoken to. The monstrosity is unlike any plant Bunnymund had ever seen before, all his knowledge of botany, herbology and even mutagenesis practically rendered useless.  

_Almost as if they weren’t plants to begin with._

Bunnymund twisted a bit and tried to prop himself up on his elbows, which resulted in some thorns piercing through his pelt and drawing blood. He kicked away a couple that snaked sinisterly towards him and noted with relief that at least his legs were free to some extent.  After more fruitless thrashing for the heck of it, Bunnymund sunk in (temporary) winded defeat, his face burning hotly in mortification.

Spiffy, now he was manacled by homicidal living barbs in some godforsaken place.

The Easter Bunny, a _Legend_ among magical beings, _Guardian of Hope and Life_ , _Herald of Spring_ and a master of the _Fighting Arts…taken out by a bunch of weeds_.

A captive of his own element.  

_As if being bested by a prickly salad bowl isn’t humiliating enough._

A little voice in Bunnymund’s head reminded him that if Jack had been around to witness the royal mess he had gotten himself into, he would be rolling around on the ground in hysterics.

He also would not put it past the witch to create these bloodthirsty thorns as some form of repulsively morbid version of his powers in an attempt to incapacitate him. They may have managed to escape her clutches, but that does not mean she is not above exploiting their weakened states or toying with their sympathies in one way or another; North and Santoff Claussen being prime examples of her demented idea of self-entertainment.  

In hindsight, he should have taken more precautions besides sneaking away some apples for a snack. It had been another arduous morning scouring the farmlands; sniffing out imperceptible air magic residue, questioning less than helpful magical beings, putting a lid on his skyrocketing frustrations, Bunnymund needed all the energy he could get.

Never mind the fact that said energy was procured from a momentary lapse in judgement, no thanks to fatigue.

It was not until Bunnymund decided to expand his search beyond the farmland boundaries that he happened upon stronger air magic trails. They were still diluted, but definitely stronger than what he had smelled. A few more whiffs meant Bunnymund was able to determine that the trails were wafting towards Ivory Grove, the woodlands surrounding the Temple of the Lady.

It was another lengthy run to the forest and Bunnymund was seized by an air of eagerness. After a few days of no success in finding any hints of the sylphs, getting close to a more pinpointed spot of their last stopover was thrilling. As the air magic traces grew thicker, he began picking up the beginning scents of water and the tinkling trickles of a creek. Turning off the well-travelled pathways and onto a dirt trail tucked away by tall grass, Bunnymund soon found himself stepping forth into the picturesque glade that is Ivory Grove.

The view was wondrous to behold in its simplicity. Rays of sunlight danced elegantly across a disc of shimmering blue, the surface barely stirring from the occasional breeze. Slim alabaster trees seemed to grow straight out of the glassy surface, as if they were admiring their reflections in the water. They stretched high into the skies, standing on sentry duty over the life there, guarding it and keeping it safe. Bunnymund could tell they were ancient, their spirits mostly sleeping, but still alert to everything that happened around them; not that centuries or a day would make any difference to them.  

As he trodded forward, dirt gave way to a virescent carpet, crowns of foliage blooming with scintillating radiance. From the chorus of birdsong from the flowering thickets, the sound of marine creatures twittering amongst the lily-pads to the wildlife feeding in the safe haven of the reed beds and flashing green and blue dragonflies hovering above. A deep sense of serenity overcame Bunnymund as he stared enraptured by the expanse of the Eden not unlike his burrow; his artistic side practically screaming to be let loose, his paws itching to capture everything on a canvas.

A teasing wisp of air magic snapped Bunnymund out of his stupor. Flushing in disbelief at having been so easily distracted, he shook his head to clear his mind before resuming his track.

His nose eventually led him to an inconspicuous clearing pungent with the bouquet of air magic. Unlike the utopian garden he came from, the trail had widened into an earthen patch that was devoid of anything but dirt, miserable sprigs of grass, and a hotchpotch of sodden stubbly moss that expanded unforgivingly over a suspicious outcrop. A light grey mist hung over the drudge of the land like a chilling veil, the once cacophonous symphony of life and colour slowly dying off into a disquieting hush. The only sound breaking the eerie silence was the slow methodical beat of Bunnymund’s heart.

Bunnymund furrowed his eyebrows, his ears erected on high alert.

_This isn’t right. The lands of the Temple of the Lady are supposed to be lush and teeming with life, not sickly and lifeless. Could the witch have something to do with this?_

Small loose pebbles littering the ground almost caused Bunnymund to trip as he treaded closer to the rock face, the scents of air magic the most concentrated he had smelled yet drifting languidly around it.  As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, a cave came into view; the entrance so small he almost missed it.

The cave was built into the muddy brown rock of a cliff, obscured by bushes and fallen rocks that sloped high along the cliff side. As Bunnymund peered guardedly pass the threshold, all he could see were silhouetted dark shapes that rolled across ominously, threatening to swallow him whole.  In the darkness, the unexpected scent of air magic reached him, only this time it was laced with some honey-like sweetness, a stark contrast to the heather-and-gorse moss that embroidered into the very landscape.

Every single fight-or-flight instinct in Bunnymund was yelling “flight” with extreme prejudice.

That was when the moss erupted into violent tendrils of thorns and shot towards him.

_Shitshitshit…!_

Bunnymund dodged a whirlwind of blows, grabs, stabs and the occasional whip with practiced ease and agility, but the escape was not going so well.  With every few vines he managed to dispatch, about twenty others trying to capture or maim him immediately sprouted forth to take their place. Now the rabbit was trying to take out any cutthroat vine that whizzed by too close for comfort while looking for any opening to slip through. His size meant that he did not have access to his usual arsenal, so he was reduced to mere kicks, punches and claws, which were not as powerful in his current state.    

_I WISH that showpony was here to clear a way out..._

Bunnymund felt a vein throbbed.

_… and that is an indication of just how desperate I am._

A vine grabbed his hind leg and was promptly uprooted with explosive ferocity as the rabbit twisted in its grasp. He turned the action into a throw, launching it into a frenzied group to take them out, only to hiss in pain as another lashed across his ears when he had not been fast enough to evade it entirely. Bunnymund flying-kicked a remarkably solid vine that attempted to come at him squarely at the base and used the rebound to scale upwards.  He wrenched a less-thorny vine along the way and lassoed onto the tip of the thick vine, hoping to use the momentum from his climb to slingshot his way out.

Bunnymund suddenly cried out as searing pain spread from his shoulder. He whirled around, barely noticing the thin streak of red on his fur when a bolt of green appeared out of the corner of his eye and slapped him hard, disorienting him for a bit. The vine took its chance and coiled around Bunnymund in a boa stranglehold. Near choking, it pulled him back down ruthlessly and embedded him into a jagged rock by the cave mouth.    

Hence, his current sorry state of affairs.

Recollection of how his predicament came to be is an ugly thing; for Bunnymund, it left an incredibly sour taste in his mouth and an even more unpleasant wedge in his pride. He could not negotiate with the thorny vines, he could not burrow his way out, he could not send for North or his warrior egg sentinels, Frostbite was nowhere nearby, and there were no magical beings for miles around.

In short, Bunnymund was thoroughly _screwed_. 

 _For all I know, the witch probably planted a false trail of air magic as bait and set a trap_ before _we came to Silver Apple Farm, and I fell hook, line and sinker into it! I am such a drongo!_

Nevertheless, he is still a Pooka warrior. He had yet to meet a plant that had gotten the better of him; all he needed to do was figure out how to destroy these vines and get out.

As if reading his thoughts, the vines tightened their grip a tad bit too gleefully. 

_This is going to be a looooooong day…_

* * *

 

_Where is Cottontail when you need him to explain the downright bizarre?!_

Twin silvery blurs streaked down the orchard path, not stopping until they neared the mill. Collapsing against a tree, Jack was just glad that he could run faster with the aid of his ice, let alone keep up with the brothers.

_Can you say “light-footed”?_

“Hey,” wheezed Jack. “What’s the hurry?”

Cirrus turned his head slightly to call back, not changing his pace. “The big stone has stopped. We’ll be in trouble.”

It took Jack’s near shorted-out brain some time to catch up with Cirrus’ comment.

“What?” Jack started to jog slightly to keep up with the brothers’ ground-eating steps, dispelling the ice from the wheelbarrow gradually to avoid arousing suspicion. “I don’t get it. Are you sure you’re saying it right?”

Cirro rolled his eyes in exasperation.

Cirrus glared at him, then turned back to Jack. “The mill. The big stone that takes the seed is stopped.” 

Jack blinked.

“Wha…?” Jack sputtered, trying to comprehend the surreal-ness of it all. “Okay, you can’t _possibly_ know that! It’s got to be a way yet, I only just started hearing the river!”

Cirrus stopped to face Jack fully. “We hear. The stone stopped, and the men will be sad that there is no seed.” There was no falsehood clouding Cirrus’ silver orbs.

“So…wait, you can _actually_ hear the mill? _And_ the grindstone has stopped?” Jack felt the stirrings of another dizzy spell. Since meeting Bunnymund and North, he had become more open-minded to the fantastical and unexplainable, but this was a whole new level of weird. “No. _Way._ ” As they cleared the orchard, Jack could see a stone building by the river supporting a huge waterwheel. “It’s got to be a few hundred metres away in the mill house!”

Cirrus grabbed his arm, forcing Jack to walk faster. “We can hear.” Together they jogged up the path, only to be met by Mayhew scowling down at them, arms folded across his chest.

“What kept you?”

Both brothers kept blank expressions on their faces, as if they did not understand the question.

Jack wisely kept his cheek in check as he spoke up. “Took us a while to start. Earl had to tell me what I needed to do, and I didn’t find the mill right away.”

Mayhew jabbed an irritated finger into the mill. “Hurry up and put ‘em down over there, and fetch the flour from the other side!” None of them moved in case he gave more instructions. Jack tried his best to resist the strong urge to wipe Mayhew’s condescending sneer off his wicked mug.

“Get moving, you lazy louts!” he barked. “And don’t make us stop again, or else I’ll get Jesper to dock your pay!” Jack scurried in quickly, leaving the wheelbarrow of sacks by the large grain hopper, and then moved to pick up one of sacks of flour. The brothers followed close behind, not wanting to anger Mayhew further. Together, they fled with sacks of flour that Jack was dismayed to find weighed more than the sacks of grain.

Once they were well away from Mayhew’s wrath, Jack spoke to Cirrus again, “Could you _really_ hear that they’d stopped?”

Cirrus nodded a little. “We hear well, yes.”

“But that’s _impossible_!” exclaimed Jack. “I’ve never heard of being able to do that! How can you?”

Cirrus paused and chose his next words carefully, “Is normal for our home, to hear good.” Cirro shrugged casually, as if to punctuate an unspoken, “That’s just how it is.”

Jack tried to keep himself from vibrating with unabashed incredulity and continued to chatter away, trying to teach them both more of _Common_ when they were alone, even if Cirro did not seem so interested as they settled into the mundane routine of walking to and fro, carrying the sacks back and forth.

As morning became afternoon, the boys relaxed in the cool shade of the orchard trees, leaning against the sacks they carried, to eat lunch. Jack chose to sit apart from the brothers, giving them privacy to talk. He did not think his will to restrain himself from asking the brothers all sorts of culturally nosey questions would last long either, now that he knew what the whispering sound he heard was. He set his shepherd’s crook down beside him and leaned back, determined to enjoy the dappled sunshine warming his frame, and closed his eyes.

_“Do you think he knows?”_

Cirrus looked at his brother. _“I…don’t know. I don’t think so? After all, judging by the story Huet told yesterday, we’re a myth. Not a very nice myth either.”_

Cirro bristled. _“The Fae-Folk aren’t that complimentary about the_ dirt-folk _either, you know. Magi-Folk indeed, what a ludicrous name.”_

Cirrus winced at a certain derogatory term. _“Do you have to call them that? They chose the name ‘Humans’ for themselves.”_

 _“I haven’t seen any skill or culture that suggests they shouldn’t be called dirt-folk,”_ scoffed Cirro. _“I really don’t understand what our honoured_ High Priest _saw in them.”_

Cirrus sighed into his bread. _“He didn’t see it in them, he saw it in Jack. Whatever ‘it’ was. I’d like to see what he saw. Well, foresaw, that is.”_

Cirro snorted in disdain. _“ **Jack**. He’s the whole reason we’re stuck here, learning, isn’t it? Stuck among savages,”_ he spat the last word out acidly.

Cirrus leveled a warning glare at him. _“And_ our _people are so benevolent to kick us out? I feel there’s more in common between both Magi-Folk and Humans than you realise, brother.”_

Cirro angled his head tersely towards Jack, who was still dozing contently in the sunshine. _“And what of him? Think he’d be so friendly if he knew our true nature?”_

Cirrus followed his brother’s gaze. _“Yes,”_ he replied instantly.

 _“Yes?”_ echoed Cirro in doubt. _“Why do you say that?”_

Cirrus smiled. _“Because appearances can be deceptive. Look.”_

Cirro looked, and was surprised to see light powdery snow dusting Jack’s body, with slivers of frost ferns curling out from underneath him and into the grass. “ _Surely it is not that cold in this grove despite the season?”_

 _“It isn’t,”_ agreed Cirrus. _“Not by nature anyway.”_

 _“_ Magic?” bawked Cirro. _“One of the dirt-folk has_ magic _?_ Elemental magic _at that?”_

Cirrus nodded, still watching Jack. _“Wild, not completely controlled, and young, but magic nonetheless. Not fae magic either,”_ he turned to look at Cirro. _“I’m starting to see why honoured_ High Priest _was so interested in Jack.”_

Cirro looked back, still dumbfounded. _“But dirt-folk can’t hear, so how can magic be there?”_

Cirrus smiled enigmatically. _“As I said, humans are not as different as you think."_  

* * *

  

Bunnymund yelped as the length of an encroaching spear-like vine slammed into him for jostling too much, thorns nearly shaving a few strands of fur off had they been just a little sharper. He grunted and quickly brushed off the impact, thankful for his sturdy armor – only sharp or thin weapons, like arrows and picks, could penetrate the jungle of fur and hurt his sensitive skin underneath. The tremor reverberated through his whole body, bordering on pain but not quite.

“All right, yer wussies,” snarled Bunnymund, flattening his ears in rage. “Want a fight with the Easter Bunny? _Yer got one!_ ”

A few more thorny friends joined the fray and came down on him in waves. Before an angry vine could swipe his ears off, he lunged forward and gnashed his chompers around it before ripping it apart. Another vine tried to land a blow in Bunnymund’s stomach while he spat the murky green chunk out in disgust. He managed to catch the charging vine with his mouth again before slashing it with his hind leg claws so hard he _heard_ the entire plant howl in excruciating agony.

Seemingly horrified at the carnage of vines – some bent at awkward angles with missing chewed-off parts, others completely decimated into shreds of fiber – as well as the stone-cold expression on the apparently-not-so-helpless-looking rabbit, the rest of the vines hastily slinked away. Bunnymund heaved a sigh of relief at the temporary ceasefire.

_Well, there goes chewing my way out as an option._

* * *

 

_I_ _wonder what that rabbit is up to? Haven’t seen him all day…_

Meanwhile, on more civilized grounds, the rest of the day passed rather uneventfully for Jack. He and the brothers alternated between carrying sacks to and from the mill and avoiding Mayhew, who had taken to giving them an unusually hard time. Often Cirrus would take Jack’s load when the group was out of the view of other workers, allowing Jack to make sweeping gestures or pantomime as he taught the brothers the common tongue. Both brothers watched Jack closely with varying degrees of amusement, but neither could see any ill effects from the strange cold wave he had emitted in the orchard. In the end, their toil was ended by Earl before sunset, and on his orders moved to the bathhouse to clean up before dinner.

Dinner itself was the same uncomfortable affair it always was, with most of the workers ignoring the brothers, and by extension, Jack. After the meal, the men separated out into groups; some playing cards around tables cluttered with pints of barley ale and others a game of horseshoe toss. The boys moved away from them, trying to find a spot where they would not attract attention – and therefore, the ire of other workers in Mayhew’s circle – before sitting down. They spent the rest of the evening in companionable silence until night fell.

Yet for some irrational reason, Bunnymund’s absence kept niggling at the back of Jack’s mind.

* * *

 

 _“After the creation of the Human kind,_ The Three Gods Themselves _walked amongst us, guiding our people so we would not err. All of_ The Lesser Gods _were with us as we built our homes, our farms and our temples. They taught us their skills, which we could only mirror dimly._ The Lady Tatiana _taught mankind herb lore and the art of healing while_ Novthar the Just _taught them honour, valor and goodness._ Seamus the Wise _taught them to read the weather and understand natural phenomena, such as clouds, winds and rain._ Baeynar the Hunter _taught them how to hunt and forage, even bestowing some the rare gift of the ‘Touch of the Green’, which allowed them to grow crops as if by magic._

 _As_ the Three Gods _travelled the world, many questions were asked of_ Them _about why some Humans were more ‘blessed’ than others._ They _always answered, “You have compassion enough for this, but your wisdom is lacking, so_ Our _children cannot give their gifts to you yet.”_

 _Some, wishing for less cryptic answers, sought out_ Ymir _, who unlike his brethren rarely travel the world and impart his knowledge, but lived in an isolated citadel at the peak of Zenith Isle. To him, the World whisper only truths, and his eyes see history’s ebb and flow. All wise and all-knowing, many came to ask him why_ The Three Gods _denied them._

 _“O foolish youth, you are too young a people for our power. You can be cruel and jealous as easily as the compassion which my brothers reward. Such power would lead to your destruction.” This continued, until one day the question was asked, “Oh_ Lord Ymir _, when will we be ready?”_

Seamus _thought for a while, peering into the murky path of the future, before replying, “When two ancient kinds become one blood, we will begin our work, choosing only those most strong and righteous, who will walk this hard path of sacrifice.”_

 _For many years after this prophecy, old lineages of the time made treaty after treaty, often inter-marrying their offspring in a hope to be the ones to give this wondrous gift to all our kind. After some time,_ The Lesser Gods _decided that they had taught us all that it was wise for us to know, and withdrew from our world, guiding us from the_ Heavens. _They left behind, in their highest temples, their vessels, ones chosen to hear_ The Three Gods _and continue to guide our people._

 _We know these truths as passed from_ Them _…”_

* * *

 

Jack woke up in the dead of the night, not because of any nightmares, but instead because of a very insistent feeling that _something is not right_. Ice blue eyes blinked about blearily before checking under his bed.

 _Great, Cottontail’s not back yet. Seriously, where_ is _he?_

The ice mage sat up in bed, groaning softly at the queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He ran a hand along his shepherd’s crook, the grain of the wood calming him down and refocusing his thoughts.

_I better go look for him. He should be around the farm somewhere…_

Jack grabbed his shepherd’s crook and tiptoed out of the sleeping quarters, not for the first time immensely grateful for his thin and wiry body that allowed him to sneak through some very tight spaces. He crept quietly along the corridor, barely cognizant of the feathery brush of what might be autumn leaves that have blown in through the windows. He took a deep breath in and stepped out into the open.

  _Now to track down a wayward Grumpy Gus._

Jack considered himself quite the skilled hunter. Near constant cold weather back in his village, even before his _Turning_ , meant frequent periods of poor harvest, which necessitated frequent trips into the forest to hunt for food; sometimes in the pitch-black of a moonless night. Tracking animal footprints through all sorts of terrain, flushing out game from well-hidden dens, improvising traps and camouflaging them against the scenery; Jack developed his own bag of tricks through a spoonful of ingenuity, a dash of charm, and a spritz of sheer dumb luck.

Post _Turning_ and three years of travelling had Jack giving said bag an entire magical overhaul.

Jack pulled his shepherd’s crook out and raised it up to chest level. He closed his eyes and pinched his brow in concentration, willing his breathing to steady. He then cajoled a little cold tingle around his hands and let them curl playfully around his shepherds crook.

“Now for the light show,” grinned Jack.

And then, a burst of crystal blue light burst forth from the wood.

Power was rushing through him and Jack could only clench his teeth as the ice surged throughout his body in a bid to be released. This was different from the energy he had been channeling when using his ice in self-defense. This time, Jack needs to have razor sharp focus in order to connect with his powers on a deeper level, and it felt like he had stuck his hands into the ice box of the universe.

He called forth even more of the impossibly powerful force inside him that always felt like a tidal wave of lightning, threatening to drown him when sparked awake. The light swept across the ground, cool air seeping into every dark nook and cranny, and illuminated the earth in a soft firefly like glow. With the farmlands now blanketed in a thin layer of glistening ice mist, Jack pressed his hands against the ground and let his magical senses flow through the mist, checking for and isolating changes in the environment thermodynamics. Spots that felt warmer indicated a living body had passed by the area, while the degree of warmth allowed Jack to give a rough estimate of the _when_.

The patterns of these spots also tell stories about their owners; what were they doing then, where they were going and where they had been. Jack felt excitement stir in his stomach when he found the set of warm spots he was looking for.    

One thing he learnt hunting rabbits is that when moving at normal speeds, rabbit tracks generally almost always take the shape of a capital letter “J” formed by the four footprints. The larger back feet usually fall side by side and form the top bar of the “J” when they swing them forward in front of their front feet to complete a stride. The smaller front footprints lying behind the others formed the base of the “J” since they always placed their front feet on the ground first to steady themselves. 

However, when rabbits move very quickly, their tracks can take on an inverted triangular shape. Their front feet usually come down parallel, sometimes so close together they often appear to be one footprint instead of two, thus forming the back point of a triangle. The back feet keep the rabbit’s forward position on the overall track to form the other two points of the triangle.

Jack’s eyes flew open when he managed to locate tiny directional heat signatures that led past the borders of Silver Apple Farm telling that exact same story. Giving himself a mental pat on the back as he jogged forwards, he let out a pleased sound when he found footprints of a very lagomorph origin.

Now in high spirits, Jack boldly vaulted over the fence marking the farmland borders and followed the footprint trail, wordlessly dispelling the gossamer veil into crystalline threads that ghosted off softly into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! It took 2 years, but Jack and Bunnymund’s investigation is finally moving forward!
> 
> Next chapter: Jack rescues Bunnymund, but something is still out to get them. Can Jack and Bunnymund rally against this unexpected threat? What exactly is inside that cave? Who are those brothers? Where are the sylphs? Will it take another 2 years to find out? (Joking, joking! It won’t, I promise!)


End file.
